Raftsman's journal. [volume] (Clearfield, Pa.) 1854-1948, 1854-06-15
THE MOTHERS LESSON.
a Story From a German Ballad.
By EahA SOUTH.


Twas night, the star-gemmed and glittcripe
when bereaved mother lay tossing on her bed
in all the feverish restlessness of unsanctified
sorrow. Sleep had fed far from her weary eve
lids; and her gref-burdened heart refused to
send up from its troubled fountains the refresh
ing stream of prayer.
The deep stiffness that rested on the husbed
earth was broken by those saddest of all sounds.
the bitter wailings of a mother weeping for her
children, and ssrefusing to be comforted be-
cause they are not.''
son, WOO, woe is 20 was the piteous cry
OF that breaking heart, and the piercing sound
went up to the still heavens; but they looked
calmly down in their starry beauty and seemed
to hear it not.
And thus slowly passed the long, weary hours
OF the night, and naught was heard save the
solemn Ginning Of the clock, telling, with iron
tongue, that man was drawing hourly nearer
to the quiet grave.
And as the mourner lay listening to Times
slow, measured strokes, memory was busy with
the images of the loved and lost Again thew
were before her in all their youthful beauty !:
she heard their gleeful voices and felt their
fond caresses. The night wind swept cooling
iy into the easement, and, as it touched her
throbbing brow, it seemed like the soft kisses
of her loving children.
Poor mourner! Could earth furnish no ma
gle mirror in which thou couldest always thus
see the dead living3 Oh, no for as melts the
ieecy cloud into the blue depths of heaven,
so passed away the blessed vision; and seeing
but the coffin and the shroud, again arose on
the silent air those tones of despairing an
guish: <'Wee is me! my sons are deadi''
Then softly and sweetly sounded forth the
matin chimes, blending their holy music with
the anguished cries of the bereaved mother
In the midst Of her sorrow, she heard the BELLS
sweet harmony, and, leaving her sleepless
couch, walked forth into the refreshing air.
Morning was breaking cold and gray over the
earth, and the stars were growing pale at the
approaching step of the monarch of the dav.
Slowly walks the mourner through the yet
sleeping woods, whose flowers are folded in
silence, and whose birds give forth no carols.
She reaches the antique church and enters the
sacred door. mysterious Iight-light that
is almost shade-is broOding over the holy
images of departed saints; wrapping in mantle
of dimness the carved sepulchres; throwing
strange CLEANS over the tall white columns;
and embracing, with pale arms, cross and pic
ture, and antique shrine. In the midst of this
mysterious light kneel a silent company; each
head is bowed on the clasped hands, and no
sound is heard save deep, far distant mur-
muring, like the voice of the mighty wind
when it passes through the leaves of the dark.
old pines, dwelling in some dim, solemn woods.
Suddenly every head is lifted, and the mourn
er sees In that vast company friends vino had
been sleeping long ages in the silent tomb
All were there again; the friends of her cloud
less childhood, who went down to DEATHS cold
chambers in all their stainless beauty, sinking
into the grave as pure as the snowflake that
falls to the earth. And there was the sister of
her home and heart, the tried friend of soI-
rows shaded hours, who, in dying, left mighty
void that time could never fill. and there
were the ''mighty dead, % they whose footsteps,
when living, tracked the world with light
light that now shed halo over their graves.
And there were the meek, patient ones of earth, 1
pale martyrs TO sorrow, who struggled hopeful
" through the dim vapors that surround the
world, and met as reward the ineffabIe bright
ness of heaven. They were all here, all who
had passed from earth amidst fond tribute Of
tears and regret.
Ell were here save two, those two the most
dearly loved among the precious company of
the dead; and wildly scanning the pale group,
the mother called aloud as she missed her chill
dren: ssOh, my sonsi my sons! would that l
could see them but once again''
Then arose a loud voice, aud it said: ssLook
to the east;" and the weeping mother looked.
Oh, dreadful sight! there, by the sacred al
tar, rested block and fearful wheel. Stretch
ed on these dreadful instruments of doom, in
the coarse garb of the prison, wrestling fierce
ly with death in its most awful form, were two
poor youths; and in their countenances,
where crime and grief had traced their fearful
march, the mother recognized her lost sons.
Dismayed, heart-sick, desparing, she mo-
tionless stands; and the deep silence is again
broken by voice speaking these words =
ssMourner, whose every tone is murmur at
Heavens will, whose every expression is a
doubt of Gods love, let this teach thee