The Perrysburg journal. [volume] (Perrysburg, Ohio) 1853-1861, 1856-07-31
From the Cayuga Chief
OUR MOTHER IS DEAD "

BY MRS. c. II. PARLIMAN.
Tread softly The green turf echoes no
football, but upon the signing breeze comes
the sorrowng tones of childhood's plaintive
voice; and mournfuly, oh, very mournfully,
sound those sad words upon our ear" Our
Mother is dead P
Away back, many long, weary year,
when, not as now, the springng grass and
purple violets trembled meath the weight of
thousand dewy gems,-but the wild storms
of winter swept in fitful gusts over the frozen
earth, ,-softly we crept to the bed side of our
struggling through the drifting clouds, fell upon
her face, We thought she slcnt Blindness
had, for some d.. eyes to
all Of earthly be-, low
quickly answered to tne tlusue,r urear1nng OF
her c. lid, and there, in the deep midnight Of
a winters storm, my mother laid her gentle
hand upon my childish head, and blessed me,
ere she died.
They bore me away to my little couch,
where, sobbing myself to sleep. l dreamed
that an angel with snowy wings and sweet,
loving face, d me forth into the world, alone.
For tim. the way was but narrow path,
enveloped in gloomy archoly light, while
ever and anon, the lurld lightnn ng rent the
threa!ning clouds, and the hoarse thunder
muttered its harsh music upon my brow
On Z thcr hand rose an impenetrable cliff,
o'erclustered with brightly -blushing flowers,
but turn whichever way might, thorns pierre
ed my tender flesh and goaded my bleeding
feet. Oh, often, very often my heart grew
faint and weary, and longcd 10 lay my
dropping ,ad Gown to lest-rest any.shere,
e',n in The awful stiffness Of the grave !
Then the light rustic as OF waving wings,
or low tone Of far off eludy, would fall upon
my ear, and locking up, would tchoid my
angel guide, bcckoning me onward and up
ward. With renewed energy, l pressed for
ward in the rugged lah, while a brighter
light circed its cheering radience around me,
and sometimes | gathered coveted flow
ret and pressed to my aching bosom. Soon
! the way became broader and clearer, until at
length, the bright open day and codGn sun
shine, poured forth their full tide of splendor
and beauty. IHen, the earth was very beau
/ tiful F; the air was redolent with fragrance
and sweet music, and Joyous as an uncaged
bird, my spirit echoed the sweet strains float
| ing ever around me.
Sill, there were no roses wihCut thorns-
no sunshine without shadow. Sometimes al
was beautiful and brght-again, rugged anJ
dreary. Clouds and thick tempess oft rose
quickly up, shutting out the blue heaven-
but, beaming from every cloud and whisper
ing in every tempest, saw the smile anC
heard the voice of my angel guide.
Suddenly, quick footsteps sounded in The
passage, and voice, hushed, yet Iearfu ly
! distinct, uttered" She is dedd! !" Yes, GU
mother was dead We saw the white shrout
folded over the still bosom; the loving eye!
closed in their last, dreamless sleep-saw he
lowered into the yawning graye-heard the
knell of frozen clods upon the cothn-lld thel
with cry of agony, clung to the neck o
our father, who bore us back to our home
Oh, how dreary, how desolate ~aS tia
home Yet, it wa not until another came
that we felt the crushing weight of its uttel
I desolation. Then, indeed, we knew that we
were motherleSS, and must ever be
And our dream a0aS but prophecy. Al
along lifes early pathway clustered the beau
ti(ul flowers of affection yet when our lone
ly heart leaped forth TO be clasped in thei
twining tendrs, words of harsh reproof o.
looks Of GOODNESS and aversion, sent i, al
quiyering with pain and anguish, back to it
own fountain of sorrow and OF tears Years
long years have passed away-years whose
heavy wings, like an April sky, have show
cred upon me alternate storm an sunshine
closely, strangely int, rminged, Yet th'
storm too oft predominates. The thunder
voice is ever strong, more enduring than th,
spirit tones which breathe in the gentle zeph
yrs, whispering peace and joy to the worn anC
weary soul.
Alas, how many motherless ones, reaiz
the lonely wretchedness of that prophets
dream From priucely palace, humble cot
tage, and low-roofed shed, swell ing upon III,
tempest's breath or floating upon the whis
peTing breeze, comes ever that sad, weeping
tear fraught strain" Our mother is dead 7
; Oh, to our ear, no sound, save the kntll 0
virtue or of hope, was ever half so mournIul
so desponding, SO utterly desollte it
dying echoes fade away, our soul travels ''al
along life's backward way" and the dark
ness and gloom of the past, throw their gian
: shadows over the sunshine and joy of tn
present. Our heart bleeds for the poor moth
erless ones of earth for cen their happiest 10
is reft of the bright and ever beaming star
t a mothers love.
| Clustering round ycn newly raised poun'