Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1855-04-09
A MOTHERS INFLUENCE.

gathered around poor Norah. whose sim.
plicity of speech and halfcrazed vaga.
ries afforded them ample scope for amuse.
ment. A manly little fellow, just STEP
ping into his teens, stood silently b.,
and we could see the warm blood almost
breaking through his sun-burned cheeks,
IS his ear caught the cruel jests of some
one who seemed to be the senior of the
party.
Halo, Fred W., what has nettled
you! Norah is nothing to you, 1 reckon"
the boy questioned.
"No, but had O mother once Was
the sad answer, and something in the
tone, more perhaps than in the words.
appeared to carry the appeal home to
every heart.
The thoughtless group silently dis
persed, as if abashed at their selfishresS,
and Fred. w. passed up the street.
Blessings on his noble, manly heart. /
will venture to say that be will one day
be good man, if not great one. For
nature moul0s the nooleman of such ma
terials as his composition.
'l had mother once" and albeit the
living eye no longer closed, and the gen.
tie hand mouldering in the silence of the
grave, memory had treasured up as a
precious incense sweet lessons taught at
morn and even, beside that mothers
knee; and the bread cast upon the wa
ters hath been gathered after many DAYS,
In the noble impulse which prompted
the boyish heart to interpose for the
weak and the weary ones thrown in his
pathway.
The truth Of the beautiful sentiment
sends Its appeal pleadingly home to our
hearts in behalf Of Gods lonely and d.
olate children, who wander up and down
the world, vainly striving through life
time to catch glimpse of sunshine and
songs which may be overfowing our own
life cup.
You look upon that cold, stern man,
over whose fair name crime and guilt
have cast their hideous shadow. If your
eye, and not Gods, could penetrate into
the depths of that granite nature. YOU
would imagine every spark of good and
gentle thought, of high and generous i'm
pulse, had been long crushed out in bis
rude jostlings with the world. You look.
and you scarcely believe that some mother
loved him once that far back in the
guiltless days of infancy some kind heart
touched his cradle as softly as you do
that Of your frst-born tonight; that
some fond eye watched his out goings
with love and pride, and grew brighter
at his coming; that blessings and prayers
followed him out into the world, but that
the world seized him, as the great angry
ocean Seizes upon its prey, and lured him
on like lake-charmed bird, to forget the
nest where his sunny years were rocked:
but recall that mothers memory, speak
as she spoke, and see if the angel within
does not shine through the callousness
and darkness of mans nature, and then
tell me if the memory of mother is not
the most precious thing the heart cen
cling to, next to the worship Of God.
The beggar in my path-the frail child
OF shame the emigrant whose home is
over the blue sea-what the little ones
that clustered around your hearth are to
you, so were they once to some hearts:
but the world has rough paths, and they
lost their way.
81 had a mother once" And so had
We, sweet boy; and though the dust and
ashes Of the lonely grave have long lain
lightly On the bosom we worshipped, tho
matron's cap and silver hair are ever more
sacred for her sake, and even the lips
that can smile at the oddities Or eccen-
tricities of those upon whose path the
mile-stones are well nigh passed, must
have forgotten the heart upon which his
sunshine and storm, beat to no Sweeter
music than the voices Of her loved ones
at home.