Western Reserve chronicle. [volume] (Warren, Ohio) 1855-1921, 1855-12-12

! we may lnlnk Wnal W. Hilioi IL nov,
but the sung and the story heard around
the kitchen fir have colured The thoughts
and lives of most of Us /; have gwen us
The germs of Whatever poetry blesses
cur hearts whatever ui memory blooms
in our Yesterdays. Attribute whatever
We may 10 the school and the school
master, the RAYS " hich make that ltter'S
day we call lite. radiaie from the God
swept circle of the heartbstone.
Then she sings an old lullaby she sang
to mother-her mother sang to her but
she does not sing it through and fallers
ere IT'S done She rests her head on
her hands, and it is silent in the old
kitchen. Something slitters down be-
tween her fingers in the fire light. and it
looks like rain in the sunshine. The old
grandmother is thinking when she first
heard tie song, and of the voice that
sang it; when a light haired and light
hearted girl, she hung around that moth
er 5 chair, nor saw the shadows of Ire
years to come. o! the days that are
no more What spell can We weave to
bring them back What words un-
say, what deeds undo, to set back, just
this once, the ancient clock of time
So all our little hands were forever
clinging to her garments and staying
her, as if from dying, for long ago she
had done living for herself. and lived
alone in US. But the old kitchen wants
presence to-day and The rush bottom
ed chair is lenantless.
How she used to welcome Us when we
were grown, and came back once more
70 the homestead.
We thought we were men and women,
but we were children there. The old
fashioned grandmother was blind in the
eyes. but she saw with her heart. as she
always did. We threw our long shad-
Ows through the open door, and she felt
them, as they fell over her form. and she
looked dimly up, and saw tall shapes in
the doorway, and she says, Edward L
know, and Lucy's voice | can hear, but
who is that other. l. must be Jane. for
she had almost forgo ten The folded
hands. "Oh, no, not Jane. for she-lt
me see--she is waiting me, int she ?
aud The old grandmother wandered and
wept.
"It is another daughter, .randmother,
that Edward has brou ht,'' says some
one, ''ior our blessing"
''tiaS She bl"e ewes, my son? Pu her
h n in mine. for she is my Ia,eS, bora,
the child OF my oil age. Snail | sin5
you song children 2" Her hanI is in
her pocket as of oil she Is iiiy ium
blius ior toy. a welcome sif- for he
children indi nave come "a 1ln-
One of Us. men as We thought we
were, is weeping; she hears The haIf-sup-
pressed sob; she say, as she extends
her feeble hand, "here, my poor child,
rest upon your grandmother shoulder;
she will pIotecl you from all harm -
Come, children, sit round the fire
again. Shall l sing you song, or tell
you story? Sir the fire. for it is cold,
the nights are growing colder p
The clock in the corner struck nine.
the bed time of tLose old days. The
song. of life was indeed sung, the s'ory
old; it was bed time at last. Good
light to thee, grandmother! The old
grandmother was no more, and
We miss her forever. Put We will sci up
A tablet in the midst OF the memory, in
he midst of the heart, and write on 1t
only this:
SACRED TO THE MEMORY
OF The
OLD FASHIONED GRANDMOTHER.