The Jackson standard. [volume] (Jackson C.H., Ohio) 1847-1888, 1857-08-20
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Weary Of life? all no--but Of life's woe,
Weary Ct its troubles and its cares!
Willeng to rest--because 80 well know
What draughts the hand Of Passion
still preparesl
80 tredp
A little child came painting in from play
the other night, and climbing into bis
mothers lap. laid its head upon her bo.
som, and then utt red those two little
words. l saw the fond young mother
brush the golden hair from the darling S
moist horehead. and press her lips again
and again to the flushed cheeks. The
shadows Of evening were falling fast a.
round us, and the birds had already sung
themselves to sleep. Little shoes and
stockings were drawn off and laid aside
little weary feet bathed and cooIed-a
little night dress took the place Of the
pretty blue frock and white apron, and
the boy was quiet. With sigh of sltis.
faction he next laid closer 10 her arms;his
blue eyes closed, and her cradle song
grew lower and lower as his breath came
longer and more regularly through
his parted lips Happy sleep of child
hoodl--She rose and went softly to her
own room, to lay him in his little crib,
and | was left alone. Heaven knows what
memory Of time when |, 100, was era
died upon a loving breast--when the
dead mother, whose face | cannot remem
Der, sung so to me in the twilight--came
over me as took up the infants cry,
so tired!'
A man of business-a man whose name
is a bond on Wal-street. Why should he
lean his head upon his hand and sigh as
the words fall from his lips! Tired Of his
gay and busy life, of his elegant home,
his fair daughters and his fashionable
wife! Tired Of all these, and longing for
the little red farmhouse up among the
hills of his native home. where he used
to play, bare footed, light-hearted boy?
Even 80 strange as it may seem! Yet not
so much for the farm house as for the
happiness and innocence that staid behind
it, and which he can never hope TO find in
his dusty Office, or his splendid home.
SO tired
She has been loving wife and an in
dulgent mother Six strong sons has she
reared besi 'e the cottage hearth. but the
grave has claimed them all but two, and
those the world has taken. The husband
of her youth died long ago; and to-day,
her sixtieth birthday, she sits alone in
the deserted homestead To her bows she
is the old woman to the brilliant wives
"a good old thing, but too old fashionable;
to their homes and their children almost
a stranger. Her tears fall as she thinks
of them in distant city, gay prosperous
wealthy and happy, yet not remembering
her, on this day, even by a line. to say
dear mother ! love you. This is her
r. ward for years Of toll and care and
anxiety. She has outliyed her genera
ton, and when she dies, she will hardly
be missed by those to whom she has Civ
en- health and strength and life tsplf.--I
Poor, lonely old woman! Well may the
bitter tears fall fas'--well may you long
to die. For this is often the return for
love and devotion that have outwalched
the Stars, and see The moon grow pale!
so tired
Yes, turn from the brilliant crowd that
listen eagerly for every word you utter,
fair sohgstress, and heed what your heart
is saying. Words of fire may fall from
your rapid pen-your own wild soul may
stamp It's impress upon the page before
you--the world may Place the crown o
laurel upon your bowed head--but it will
be a cTG@n Of thorns. In the height OF
the fever OF sudccss-thcre
will come sundden pause, and the iron
will enter your soul as you remember that
one voice is silent, and one face still calm
and cold. Fame, wealth. SUCCESSFUL ]
what are these to happiness? VanjIv'
vanity all, and 'vexation of Fpirit, ,Sand
you bow your head and weep to think that
il should be SO!
OH little child, not yet released from
thy mothers care, it would be better for
thee to sleep into the tranquil sleep of
death within the shelter Of her arms, than
to tread the path which we are treadlng!
There are sharp thorns hiden among the
lairest flowers--there are treacherous
quicksands in sweetest valleys. God help
thee my boy for only hand from lleav-
en- can lsad thee safely there. The gol'
den hair will turn to silver it may be,
and the blue eyes will war an anxious
look before the painful journey is half
done, and evil shapes will mock and NUT
ter when thy heart faileth thee, and thy
steps are faint,
'SogiredP
Ny boy, cling closer to thy mothers
breast! For Gay will surely come when
thy lips viii utter those self same words,
and she will not be beside thee, to hush
thee into forgelfulness of all thy troubles.
God help thee then and lead thee to the
only refuge where the wicked cease from
troubling and the weary are at rest
0HrThst was a beautiful thought ofthe
little Swedish girl, while walking with
her father on starry night. absorbed IN
Of the skies, being asked
Of what she was thinking, replied; 81