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A New England Girlhood, Outlined from Memory (Beverly, MA)
·
Lucy Larcom
113
"O
grave,
where
is
thy
'victory?
O
death,
where
is
thy
sting?"
My
father
was
dead;
but
that
only
meant
that
he
had
gone
to
a
better
home
than
the
one
be
lived
in
with
us,
and
by
and
by
we
should
go
home,
too.
Meanwhile
the
millennium
was
coming,
and
some
people
thought
it
was
very
near.
And
what
was
the
millennium?
Why,
the
time
when
everybody
on
earth
would
live
just
as
they
do
in
heaven.
Nobody
would
be
selfish,
nobody
would
be
unkind;
no!
not
so
much
as
in
a
single
thought.
What
a
delightful
world
this
would
be
to
live
in
then!
Heaven
itself
could
scarcely
be
much
better!
Perhaps
people
would
not
die
at
all,
but,
when
the
right
time
came,
would
slip
quietly
away
into
heaven,
just
as
Enoch
did.
My
father
had
believed
in
the
near
millennium.
His
very
last
writing,
in
his
sick-room,
was
a
penciled
computation,
from
the
prophets,
of
the
time
when
it
would
begin.
The
first
minister
who
preached
in
our
church,
long
before
I
was
born,
had
studied
the
subject
much,
and
had
written
books
upon
this,
his
favorite
theme.
The
thought
of
it
was
continually
breaking
out,
like
bloom
and
sunshine,
from
the
stern
doctrines
of
the
period.
One
question
in
this
connection
puzzled
me
a
good
deal.
Were
people
going
to
be
made
good
in
spite
of
themselves,
whether
they
wanted
to
or
not?
And
what
would
be
done
with
the
bad
ones,
if
there
were
any
left?
I
did
not
like
to
think
of
their
being
killed
off,
and
yet
everybody
must
be
good,
or
it
would
not
be
a
true
millennium.
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