The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1852-03-11
For the National Era.
The LITTLE C0MF0RTERs.
BY GRACE GREENWOOD.

My noble Margaret, as this morn lay
Alone, within my still and Swallowed room,
Counting the dull fow of the weary time
By the slow throbbng Of my langud brain,
/ felt all hopes, all energies, give Ger
1 bad strength to struggle more with life,
But lot its dark waves like wintry food
Close DER my drowning heart; 1 heard no voice
Of any love, in hope or comforting
1 found no joy in all my lonely soul,
saw no light in all the world of God.
When son ON tip-toe to my bedside came,
My two fast friends your blue-eyed youngest boys
/ thought the gloom that dsrkened so my brow,
For the accustomed smile would frown them of
thought the tear-drops of my suen mood,
Drowning the laughing light they loved to meet,
Would fash them baek-but no-they came anC
stood
Beside my pillow quietly, and slid
Their small hands into mine, and gently kissed
My fevered forehead and my quiyering lips,
And laid their faces down amid the tears, .
Till shone their rose-cheeks with that bitter dew.
They lit the darkness folding all my SOUL
With tho ea',S brightness of their loving eyes .
Tbs .snler rsaex Of the motber- light. 49,.
but Simplest Words, breathed soft in liquid tones
Dripped healing basam my panied heart
And made Loves childish miracle complete
W. rant you iccH agaia-,ce miss yon So
B,deed ere LoUe yOu!"
Rills of freshening life,
HaKjoy, halihope, seemed flowing through my veins
Such sweet prophetic gladness as we feel,
When hrst find beneath the bare spring hills,
So lately cireled by the whiriing SHOWS
The crocus peeping from the withered leaves -
When first we sec the lingering day of flowers
Dawning in violets blue; for with those words
Came all the gathered tones of all the hearts
l love, and live for,
Soon my reused soul
Took up its old courageous stran--my heart
Grew strong enough to beat lfes pillows back
With its own throbbings; then God smiled once more
And love went singing through a frightened world.
Such comfort sweet such joy, such faith drank
From tho pure fountains of those childish hearts.
Oh happy, happy mother. will cry,
Nor take the tears that spring to thy soft eyes
As thy rebuking do not forget
How twas but yesterday from those sou-aowers
Which hold the dew of loves fair morning still,
And like wreath of heavenly lilies, crown
Thy perfect womanhood- didst behold
The tenderest, sweetest, purest bud of all.
Borne heavcnward in an enyying angels breast.
And yet the hand that ref tho bud away
Crushed out fragrance from the other flowers,
And shook their piteOus dew upon thy brow.
Yes, happy, happy mother-who cans feel
Yet other precious burdens the heart
Death-lightened of the sweetest weight in life
With fond child-loves and close embrace st warm
The chill place at thy bosom, whore hath lain
The nurselings tender hoad--who not alone
Shall weep thy tears and plant thy violets
Over the little grave where sleeps thy babe!
And down the shining ladder Of whose dreams
Shall the relcnting angel oft-times come,
Bearing thy lost one to thy yearning arms
The babe shall nestle close against thy side
And softly fold his eherub wings away,
And lay his little hands upon thy breast,
And sleep brief earth-slumber on thy breast