The Portsmouth inquirer. [volume] (Portsmouth, O. [Ohio]) 1849-1855, 1852-11-05
... From the New York Musical World.
@Twelve o'clock at Night and all's
WelI.' ~

False prophet Still and statute like, at
yonder window, stands the wife. The clock
has told the small hours, yet her face is prest
closely against the window pane, striving in
vain, with staining eye to pierce the dark
ness. She sees nothing she hears nothing
but the beating OF her own heart. Now
she takes her seat opens a small Bible, and
seeks from il what comfort she may while
tears blister the page. Then she clasps her
hands, and her lips are tremulous with mute
supplication! Hist---there is an unsteady
step in the hall she knows it! Many q
time, and oft, it has trod on her heart strings.
She glides down gentlysto meet the wander
er. He falls heavily against her, and in
niaudlin tones, pronounces name he had
long since forgotten "to honor" Oh! all
enduring power Of woman's love mo re-
proach, no upbraiding- slight arm pass
ed around that reeling figure, (once erect in
Goods own image with tender words,
which he is powerless 10 resist, II he would,
she leads him in. 1t is but a repetition of a
thousa nd such vigils! II is the performance
ofa VOW, with a heroisrn and patient endu-
rance too common. and every day 10 be chron-
icled OIL earth; too holy and heavenly TO pass
unno.iced BY the "registering angel" above.
;r,sse "All's well ! sas 7t3 fR
False prophet LII yonder luxurious room
sits one whose curse il was TO be fair as o
dream of Eden. Time was, when those
clear eyes looked lovingly into amother's
face-when a gray-haired father laid his
trembling hand, with d blessing, IN that sun
ny bead--when brothers and sisters voices
blended with her own in heart-music around
that happy hearth. Oh! "where are they
now r. Are there none to say TO the re-
penting Magdalen, "Neither do l condemn
thee--go, and sin no more lFA Must the
gilded fetter continue to bind the soul that
loathes 1t, because man is less ncgciiul than
God ~ alldea & a@,As &iNca@ Ra XXX
,.-ss ~. AIRS we'll! ''f t'.- J's UNA.
False prophet There lies the dead orphan.
In all the length and breadthof the green
earth there was found no shelterng nest
where that lonely dove could fold its wings,
when The parent birds had flown. The brood
ing wing was gone that covered il from the
cold winds of neglect and unkindness. Love
was It's lite.and SOFT droopedl ss,. = ssaS
.gaii ."All's well ss a Is
RAISE propnel l--Sin walks the earth in pllr-
pie and fine linen, honest poverty, with tear be.
dewed face, hungers, and shivefs, ana thirsts,
"wl,iie the publican stands afar of !" The
widow pleads in vain to the eimined Judge far
"justice !" and unpnnished Of ITeapen, the III.
man tiger crouches in his lair, and springs upon
hiy helpless prey Y ss.sss $3.50 e
.iee AIRS WE'LL ,ss.Ss .sss
All yes, all is we'll for He who "seeih The
endfrom the beginning holds epenly the scales
oflustlce. "Dipines' shall yet beg Of sLaeaiNs''
Every human tear Is counted They shall yet
sparkle as gemsin The crown cfthe patient and
enduring disciplel When, The clear, broad
light oi eternity ghiuea upon lies crooked
paths we shall then rec the shafes and pitfalls
from which our s.iiedge of th0ms'' has fenced
u.in, 2nt IN Tie maturity Of our ful grown
n'te Wcsnall lsay Father, not as will, but
as Thou will ll"- fanny Fern, TIstreI 4.
iN' ff1 ~ ~ r'f'Nf11 q fNfAn t1'