Iowa capitol reporter. [volume] (Iowa City, Iowa) 1841-1855, 1854-08-02
From DE Home Journal.
Fanny Forester.


Fanny Forester.
efore saying the few words by which We would recall
POINTS Of her varied life 70 readers let Us give
If the drops fagony wruns from this heaven-child
9 here on triala poem written for her mothers eye
and certainly the manifest hrst breath ofa souls
'ance that we have ever seen In human language
as sent to US some years ago. BY Of her friends
i Seal Of privacy which We presume 10 removed
er death. She wrote 1t while at Mailman. the mis-
AIRY station In Iudia at which she had been left BY
tying husband Dr. yudson' when he embarked on Q
ly hopeless voyage for health At the date Of thil
D, he had been four months dead, although II wal
lays before the sad news was communicated to her.
Sweet Mother.
The Wild southwest monsoon has risen,
With broad gray wings Of gloom,
While here, from out my dreary prison,
look as from a tomb--Alas!
Ny heart another tomb. r.
Upon the low matched roof the rain
With ceasciess patter falls;
My choicest treasures hear it's strains;
Mould gathers on the walls would heaven
'Twere only on the walls
Sweet mother, am here alone,
In sorrow and in pain;
The sunshine from my heart has flown;
1t feels the driving rain-Ah me!
The chill, and mould and rain.
Four laggard months have wheeled their round
Since love upon II smiled,
And every thing ofearth has frowned
On thy poor stricken child, sweet friend,
Thy weary, suffering child.
I'd watched my loved one night and day,
Scarce breathing when he slept.
And as my hopes were swept away,
I'd in his bosom wept-Oh, God!
How had prayed and wcpt!
And when they bore him to the ship,
Isaw the white sails spread,
kissed his speechless, quivering lip,
And left him on his bed-Alas!
1t seemed a coffin bed
When from my gentle sisters tomb.
Long since, in tears we came,
Thou saidst, SLOW desolate each room!'
Well, mine were just the same that day
The very, very same.
Then, mother, little Charley came,
Our beautiful fair boy,
With my own fathers cherished name;
But oh he brought no joy-my child
Brought mourning, and ne joy. ...
Ills little grave cannot see, ...-
Though weary months have sped
Since plying lips bent over me.
And whispered, 'He is dcad
IT'S dreadful to be dead
do not mean for one like me-
So weary, worn and weak
Deaths shadowy paleness seems to be
Fen now upon my cheek-hls seal,
On form, and brow, and cheek.
But for the bright-winged bird like him
To hush hisjoyous song,
And prisoned in a coffin dim
Join Deaths pale phantom throng-my boy
ojoin that grizzly throng!
Oh, mother, can scarcely bear
To think OF this to-day!
1t was so exquisitely fair,
That little form of clay--my heart
Still fingers by this clay.
And when for one loved far, far more,
Came thicky gathering tears,
My star OF faith is clouded DER, .
sink beneath my fears, sweet friend,
My heavy weight Of fears.
Oh, but to feel thy fond arms twine
Around me once again.
II almost seems those lips of thine
Might kiss away the pain--might soo.he
This dull, cold, heavy pain.
But, gentle mother, through lfe's storms.
may not lean on thee,
For helpless, covering little forms
Cling ,rusting'y to me-poor babes!
They have ne guide but me.
With weary foot and broken wing.
With bleeding heart and sore,
Thy dove looks backward sorrowing,
But seeks the ark no more-thy breast
Seeks never, never more.
Sweet mother, for thy wanderer pray
That loftcr faith be given;
Her broken reeds all swept away,
Thu, she may lean on Heaven-her heart
Grow strong in Christ and Heaven.
Once, when yeung Hopes fresh morning dew
Lay sparkling on my breast,
Ny bounding heart thought but to do,
To srork at Heavens behest-my pains
Come at the same behcst!
All !earfully, all fearful'y,
Alone and sorrowing,
My dim eye lifted to the sky,
Fast to the Gross cliug-oh, Christ:
To thy dear cross cling.
MAILMAN, IHgaStT, 1850.
OF the hymns in human language for the soul ont
few and holy, and full of meaning as the commal
ents--ths is one.
Mrs. Judson, by her genius, is incidentally one Of
,rld's memorable ones To religious class, also,
Iich her husband was shining prophet, her meme
II be dear. But there those who look for bril-
les among the pilgrims on that path of trial by
,rld unsecn--the soulsorc and heart-wrung, with
CHER sensbilities that are alive to an angels scope
,ony. She will be, by those recognized and RENE
red Sacred be the spot where rests what has so S
red and won.
Z :. There is great deal of poetry, and vast d
T.. r.