Western Reserve chronicle. [volume] (Warren, Ohio) 1855-1921, 1856-05-07

more step, and the goal is won! Thou
canst lay down the cross, and the crown
is thinel Joy to thee, triumphant trav-
eler! From this mountain height-from
the sunclad temple, where thy feet are
planted thou canst look back on the rug
gei path and toilSome ascent, and the
fallen cross. Who that beheld that ra-
diant form, glowing with immortal youth
and heavenly JOY, with that crown of
sevenfold beams of glory on his brow,
would recognize the travel soiled and
tear blistercd pilgrim, bowing and faint
ing beneath the crushing burden of life?
Gone were the dust stains from his gar
mentS, the tear stains from his check,
the blood drops from his vesture, and the
anguish from his soul. How short the
warfare-how enduring the triumph
How brief the toil-how everlasting the
rest! How different the downward to
the upward view!
A young maiden sat in her chamber
at the twilight hour, and there was no
one near to witness the shadow on her
brow. The breeze sighed through her
lattice, and she sighed responsive to its
mOurnful whispers; she was young, but
her cheek was pale, and her blue eyes
were darkened by melancholy shade,
she was young, but the fragrance had
passed from life's flower, and the glory
from life's dream. She had made her
self an idol, and found that its heart was
of iron and its feet of clay; she gathered
up the fallen garlands with which she
had crowned it, and crushed them with
ering to her bosom.
go, Fatherin heavenl" she exclaimed,
in the loneliness and desolation of her
heart, let me not continue life's weary
journey thus sorrowing and alone. |
have gathered with rash hand the BIOS
SONS of love, and they have faded from
my grasp, leaving nothing but the print
of the thorns. Doom me not to travel a
long, bleak way, whose darkness appals,
and whose coldness chills. o, my Faith
er, one lonely traveller will not be miss
ed in the great thOrOughfare of humanity.
Here let me rest my burdened heart,
and close my weary eyes"
The young mourner bowed her head,
and her tears dropped like the summer
rain. Was it the breeze that rustled in
her loosened ringlets or the wing of an
of an angel unseen by mortal eyes?-
Who is it whispers to her fainting spirit,
and bids her rise and 60 forward on her
fathers mission? Like Mary, she has
been weeping over the grave of her
earthly hopes, like Mary, she hears the
voice of the master, and she goes forth
to meet him. Trembling and faltering,
she goes forth obedient to the divine be-
hest; she passes into the shadows Of
night. The sun will shine no more for
her, but one by one, the stars come out,
and hold their silver lamps over the
wanderers path. She had bowed her
frail shoulder to the burden of the cross,
and the promise of the crolcn sustains her
sinking rest. ''Not a golden crown" she
cries ''but one of unfading fowers-one
leaf embalmed with the breath ofimmor-
al love were worth all the gold that
oaves the streets of the New Jerusalem.
Adieu, We blossoms of earth! Never
more shall my hand gather your glow
ing clusters; your beauty hath turned to
ashes, and your fragrance to poisonous
charlottesville rose of Sharon, the lily
Of the valley, shall replace your perish
ing bloom" !"
Like pale moonbeam the young mai
len parted the shadows of night, as her
still footsteps left their print on the dewy
grass. Her steps had been as light as
he summer breeze, but the burden of
the cross pressed her downwards, and
Hose who followed could tell that
weary foot had preceded theirs. By
and by the moon lifted her angel face
above bed of feecy clouds, and min
gled her soft, holy light with the inner
light dawning in the maiden's SOUL
Long and lonely was the path she tro5,
sometimes Though woods, dark and
lensc, imperVious to the heavenly rays, |
where the melancholy notes of the mid
light bird alone were heard; over rug
red hills and solitary wales, through cold
streams and dreary wastes she passed, !
for the day spring on high
Not TO the gorgeous temple on the noun
ain height was her glance uplifted. 1t
vas TUNED to green field, where still
waters smiled-to a bower where the
love made It's nest, and the Rose of Shar-
IN bloomel. Exhausted nature rallied, |
IS bathed in mornings rosy light she
'eheld the borders of the promised
and. She pressed forward with pant
ng breath and failing limbs, but fell
,rostrate beneath the crushing weight
he had bourne so bravely and enduring
Y. Poor wanderer! poor forsaken wan
lerer! hast thou followed thy Masters
teps in vain? is there no rest for the
empest tossed and world weary spirit?
las God forgotten to be gracious, and
re his promises void?