The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1855-05-03
For the National Bra.
g E N TIE w 0RDS.
BIZ MARY CLHMMER AMEs.

looScLspepl 1888
Speak gently to the aged. whatever are
their infirmities, their circumstances alone are
sufhcient to command our sympsshies. They
stand before Ms the lingering relics Of buried
generation. Their whitened locks, their bowed
frames, their lettering limbs, all speak of the
grave. Holding the Pickering lamp of memo
ry in their hands, they walk mournfully along
the shores of the past; now bowling above the
graves OF their lost ones, now weeping as the
ghosts of early errors, the phantoms of early
joys, rise to greet them ON every side. In their
breasts the fires of ambition are quenched. In
their souls are heard no longer the jubilants of
hope. as ..... 80
They feel like strangers, amid the new GUS
toms and new faces which surround them.
Even their children, now acting their own part
in the theatre of life, do not seem like the little
bnes whom once they nourished in their bosoms.
Many of the aged are entirely dependent upon
their children for every comfort of life which
they possess. The greatest kindness on the
part of the child will not always render such
perfectly happy. Those who for so many years
stood at the head of a household, cannot will
hngly sink into state of dependence. They
cannot bear to feel that those whose lives once
depended upon their care, no longer stand in
need of their services. How are are these feel
ings aggravated when they are treated with neg
lect and Indifference
But how many aged parents feel like stran-
gers in the homes of their children how many
weep bitter tears over the Indifference or un-
kindness of those'who owe them only reverence
and Lowell
How often are the counsels of the " old man y
and the "old woman" despisedl Ayel how
often l have heard men and women, themselves
parents, address with contemptuous words and
an air of authority an aged father or mother !
What if We do think that their ideas are obso-
lete, that their plans of reform are behind the
times if we feel that their complaints are irk-
some, and their demands unreasonable? At
least we may listen patiently and kindly We
had better remain silent, than to utter words
which jar so painfully the shattered harp-strings
of the soul.
Every day we meet persons who, either from
their organization or from the affective circum-
stances of their lives, are habitually sad. To
them the whole world looks like ashes. The
past is the sepulchre of their joys. The pres
ent is full of disappointment. The future
thronged with phantoms of coming VICE.
They heed not the beautiful Joys which are
born of every day, nor the beauty and the mel
ody which to some extent are the portion of all.
Shall we leave them to pine the hours of life
away, when there is so much good that they
may accomplish, so much happiness which they
may enjoy? Nay if our years to us bring
only gladness, if the censor of our life is redo
lent with the perfumes of hope and JOY and love,
let us pour their balm upon their bleeding
hearts. Point them to the purple heavens, ra-
diant with the smiles of the Creators love to
the green earth, ever ministering to their myriad
wants. Above all, let US teach them, gently
and kindly, that Sorro,o is a friend to US ali /;
that she is an angel, come down from the bosom
of God, to chasten our hearts, to develop our
Immortality, to prepare us for that infinite life
within whose mysterious portals we already
stand.
Abundant will be our reward, if we gladen
one aching heart, if we rouse one Responding
spirit, to the dignity and JOY worthy of a soul
created in the image of its God.
| We sometimes meet persons who are habitu-
ally out of humor. We grow weary of trying
to render them happy. Our hearts may be sore
with unkind words and the friction Of ceaseless
complaints. If we consider the circumstances
which render even such people what they are,
in most cases We shall pity more than blame.
No person who is perfectly well is habitually
irritable The tendency of disease is to render
people unamiable. And those who are so, are
almost always the victims of chronic complaints,
whose worn and aching bodies rasp and cor
rode the spirit.
When the nerves are distorted or deadened
by disease, how much of the enjoyment Of life
is lost Even the food, which should replenish
the wasting fountains of life, becomes a source
of misery. The melodious music which fills
other hearts with rapture, CRATES harshly upon
nerves quivering with pain. The glorious face
of nature has but few charms for eyes weary
with the agonies of sleepless nights. The aroma
of flowers the richer odors upspringing from
loving hearts, fail to impart to the sufferer that
ecstatic Joy which fills the soul revealing in ex-
uberant life.
How many such sufferers we meet How
many, who, inheriting diseased bodies from
their parents, in a whole lifetime scarcely know
an hour free from pain! Yet, of all sufferers,
these meet with the least sympathy. We grow
so used to the sad face to the wasted form, to
the tremulous voice, to the old story of aches,
that we have but little compassion. at is tire
some to hear people always complaining" we
say forgetful of the greater WEAKNESS that years
of suffering must bring.
Perchance the currents of life dance gladly
| in our veins. Our hearts beat proudly with en-
ergy and hope. Nothing stays our tireless feet,
as we rove through the glorious universe. Moth
ing detracts from our fullest enjoyment of SEN
suous and intellectual happiness. How we
wonder at the tagging steps of the invalid, at
the slight interest which he feels in the affairs
of life, at the nervous irritation which he mani
tests upon small occasions of annoyance We
| say that it is energy and patience which he
needs, forgetting that the elements which form
ed these faculties are gone.
| We would not be unjust, we do not mean to
be unkind, and yet we are both. Drop by drop
we pour the bitterness of our own souls into the
OVERLOOKING cup Of sorrow. But the time comes
when the wan face, the faltering voice, the sad
complaint troubles US no more; when the
weary pilgrimage is ended; when the wearier
spirit is at rest Then rise the spectres of un-
| kind words, haunting our memory and darken-
| ing our past. We weep when we think of little
acts of Kindness which we neuer performed, and
of loving words which were reuer spoken! We
| think, if we could call them to earth again, how
| kind we would be, how gently we would smooth
their path to the grave. But these better
thoughts bring no relief, for they come too late.
There are those who give largely to benevo-
lent institutions, who write deliberately, and
speak eIoquently, in defence of truth-whom
the world calls great and good-and yet, the
light which radiates from their spirits is cold
as the sheen of an iceberg, that glitters and
freezes in the sun. They have no golden smiles,
no kindly words, to pour upon the Ignorant and
strangers to the beautiful charities of life, which
| hu nd