Eaton Democrat. [volume] (Eaton, Ohio) 1843-1856, 1856-06-05
THE LAST WORSHIP.
" nas. =. ! 6xsrses.


-
by MRS. u. A. DERISoN.
STEP softly -spesk low-the white haired
man is gone. Love, giisfnnd prayer were un-
awaiting 10 keep back the sPoiler. What
brings The tears afresh as yon far gifl bends 10
weepl Dreamily her eyes wander over the
large print Of the cid family Bible hallowed by
his side. She remembers well the last time
his dim and sged eyes were bent above it,
She stands by the little osken table; the re is
his arm-chair-there are his speclacles-his
staff is in its accustomed corner-sil thires
speak Of him--bat he is not there.
Tne fair hatred gri is dreaming. To her
vision il is again the hour of worship, and the
great Bible lays on his knee. There is majesty
an bis voice, though it trembles as the broken
tones Of a mighty wave that is spending its
strength on the shore for the last lime. And
he reads with closed eyes-for his soul is all
familiar with the grandeur Of those noble words,
"a knew that my Redeemer liveth."
And when it is finished, there is something
like the awe the heaufeeis in the wide hush
7ofNatufe before she gathers her winds for ele-
mental battle. But he gazes about him and
smiles, and the living band breathe freely again
there is so much sweetness in that smile.
And The prayer that follows--oh! that last
rpTnyerl Oh! the tremulous entreaty Of those
euplif'ed arms! The glory refecteddiom the
shining brow, whose thin locks TALL like the
aSiisery silk over q bending ear Of corn fully
Tipe.
They look through tears upon him. His
form is no longer bent-and q lambent FIRE
plays IN the faded blue eyes. Not a tone fall
,tsrS-not one Of his lambs is forgotten in that
last petitioa.
He prays for his Mary, fragile and blue
veined; she whose slender thread OF life has
been SO often nearly Snapped asunder. And
she. pleads for Thomas, his first born who stands
in the might and stature Of manhood, wishing
that he had bent bis stubborn knees instead;
his rugged face wet Whit the tears he has ever
till then restrained.
Nor is the Benjamin OF his love forgotten; he
awhoshas never spoken on unflial word to the
old man; he, so like his mother, that her very
angel seems to dwell in his soul and speak lbs
. every look and action.
And then they sit down. Itseems as ifsome
; insensible cord binds them together closerthan
ever, tonight.
There are choice spirits waiting for Thomas;
the cheek Of a beautiful girl pales as the hours
speed, because Benjamin ~tarrieS; ard a group
fgirlish friends pause in the midst Of their
innocent mirth 10 wonder what has become Of
Mary.
Still they hover around the old man, their
father. He never seemed so'dear be fore. His
voice was always soft-now tits music; his
smile always sweet, but nov tits seraphic.-
And even after thew have hidden him good.
night, they keep returning MARY for one more
kiss; and the Others with affectlonate worlS,
telling him how careful he must be-, and GER
tainiy to ring for them If the fire goes out.
And once in that ~never,to 5e-forgotten night
'he does ring for them. The fire is almost out.
1t blazes at times in the hollow eye; it kin
dies in the sunker cheek, but its lighttis the
afitful CLEAN Of struggling life, famed by the
lips of death.
Thomas, strong though he is, and with The
scar of honorable battle scanning his brow,
shakes like an aspen; and the groaus that
would echo through the house he keeps down
with a crushing hand.
And Benjamin lotters like q child, and sinks
~nerveless and weeping al the bedside. Mary,
alone, with no col E in her cheeks, lifts the
dying head 10 her bosom, and there he peace
fully 5reathes gu. his being.
1t is over; the vision is goae, and Mary, in
her sable garments, stands on orphan, her hands
,clasped upon her fathers old Bible.
Yes, step ~softly-speak low-lhe while
haired man is gone.
He is gone. AS when a towering oak is
missed, the eye still glances upward whele
stood The trunk, so in every familiar place the
glance of love seeks to shape out the tall,
venerable form of the aged patriarch.
In vain. But there is a green spot sacred TO
memory. 4
Yes! for there, every CLASSY blade is hal,ow-
ed; every dust-atom precious as gold. Fol,
lying with the garments of death drawn sof ly
around him. and watched by never sleeping
a~ngels-there, after a "night Of Storm" The
dear old father awaits the morn Of resurrection!