Fayetteville observer. [volume] (Fayetteville, Tenn.) 1850-1966, 1852-01-29

anu uiieil ENefdfu, loOklnS a6 l
> watch, declares that he can stay
;, longer. He ones to my side, kiss
; me, and is gone. / 60 about n
: household duties, happy in the co
= sciousness Of his love, proud that n
love is so much to him.
Anon we are parents. With
timorous Joy, "a grateful wonder,
> measureless affection, we look upo
! the little one that God has sent us
We hang over It with fond solicitud(
we watch with delight the move
ments of it's tiny limbs. Other pee
pie see in it only d newborn baby
with the red complexion, shapeles
features, and puny legs and arms
, which belong to that early stage 0
being. Blu t We see in it our child :
our darling-the new link hetweer
our hearts.
The baby grows The red hue
clears away from its features, the
thin, silky hair nearly covers its head
its eyes brighten with intelligence
1t begins to know US; it stretches out
its arms to be taken and held
Thenceforth every month beholds
some new epoch in its existence
It has cut a tooth; it can say "papa;'
it has learned some il title trick which
seems to Us the prettiest that ever
baby tried. BY and by it can walk;
it begins to talk, TOD, with the sweet
lisping utterance of earliest child
hood. All it is indeed a blessing to
Everard and me.
Years pass on. The little one that
first woke in our hearts the throb of
parental tenderness has been taken in
its innocence to a purer home. We
have mourned its loss as only parents
can; yet mingled with our grief has
been chastened joy, as we remem-
bered our lamb was safe in the bosom
of the Good Shepherd Since then
many children have been given US
They are bealthful blooming crea>
lures; noisy and romping enough. no.
doubt; and faulty. emo ugh, too, yet
still OF, kindly hearts and generous
They grow up; the boys go into
business, or enter college; the girls
are becominga part Of society
Everard and are getting old; silver
threads mingle with his dark locks.
and his step is not as free and light
as it was in former days. l am al
tered; a cap conceals the hair which
has lost its youthful brightness and
luxuriance; wrinkles farrow fore
head that was once smooth and fair. |
| care little for the change, however /
The slight personal vanity which
once possess ed is merged in the pride
I feel in the beauty of my children.
| often wonder if any mother bat my
self has such family such Strong,
manly boys, such graceful, winning
daughters, Everard and l are still a
happy coup ple-life is full of interest
and occupation for us. Our children
are at once our chieiest care, our most I
abundant JOY.
Bu time goes on, and the group is
widely scattered. Marriage, fortune, |
chance and change, and death, too,
have thinled the blooming ranks
A widowed daughter, q young, fair
woman still, is the only child that
shares our home. She is the light of
our dimmed eyes, the sunshine of our
closing day. Forwe re really oldnow;
Everard's tail form is bent, and he
moves feebly about, leaning on his
staff. But he Is klnds generous, low
ing still; you see that in his face,
which has no harshness in its wrink-
les, no querulous shade in its gravity. |
Little children love him; they climb
upon his knee. while he tells them I
stories Of past days, and their slight |
fingers play with his gray hair
Peace is ours; happiness IN each 9TH +
er's love, in the tenderness of our
the kindness of the few
friends whom time has spared US; and /
more than all, in the love of God, and
the hope Of that bright home to
which we draw so near.
At last a great change comes; | am
aid upon that couch of sickness,
rom which ] am never more to rise.
With what fond, faithful care am |,
tended! how unweariedly does love
minister to my every want! Kind
hands smooth my pillow; gentle ten
Ter tones question me Of my feelings