Spirit of the age. [volume] (Raleigh, N.C.) 1849-1865, 1858-02-10
49,: 9
GSittess's 9spatmsnt'
Sweet Home

wv
How sweetly on the car falls the refrain Of
that simple song, finding an echo in every
human heart-an echo that floats up from
the never.forgotten past like the music Of sill
yer ells-home-home-a awakens athou-
sand memories, embalmed with ~childhood's
hopes and tears.
Dear resting place of our early first days /:
Time has wrought many changes since we
left thy sheltering shadowsi The buoyant
and gay have learned sad lessons Of the cruel
world, and turn m~ournfully from its deceit
full pleasures to review youths happy season,
when the heart was free and the sky of exis-
tence loudless-when we gathered thornless
roses, and deemed that life would always be
as bright and beautiful.
Then, when evening gathered close her
twilight robes, we knelt beside her, whose
loving tones are hushed on earth forever, and
tiny hands were clasped, and youthful heads
bowed low, in reverence and humility, while
a mothers fervent prayer was inscribed on
our hearts and recorded in heaven and now,
when sorrows cloud is darkest-when the
marah of bitterness is gushing from the pois-
oncd fountain, the holy influence Of that pray
err comes with the breath Of healing to the
lonely ones, who oftimes falter by the way
and weary in well doing.
The sigh Of regret for her who was so ear
ly called, is stayed. Faith points beyond the
vale to that home to which all are journey
ing, whose inefable glory is concealed from
human eye. Here we abide for a season with
mingled JOY and sadness, but the promised
rest awaits us in heaven-sweet heaven
Every sunset finds US a days march nearer
TO the revelation Of Eternal Truth.
God pity the poor who have no homes-no
resting place for the weary-no h~earthstone,
round which the loved may gather, and pure
affection weave its strong, imperishable bar.
rier to temptations, and the poor in spirit
who have no hope for the great hereafter
no anchor for the soul thus recklessly driven
out on life's surging ocean, no sentiments Of
good to oppose to the all-surrounding evil.
What wonder that the beaded foam of the
wine-cup sparklcs not in vain-that the al
lurements Of vice find many willing victims
That the angel Of Mercy weeps over the err
ring and fallen Yet, nowhere on the wide
earth is there one among them ali that has
not in his heart some chord that thrills to
the electric touch Of memory-some crushed
or bruised hope, that, like the Phoenix from
the ashes, may rise up from the joyless pres
ent, and work out for itselfa glorious reality,
e4y- The following toast was lately given
at a dinner up town: " old BpcheLOrs and
old Mtids, a cold set may they be toasted
till they are melted together"
All that would be a terrible crucible, hea
ted in a fire seventimes hotter than the fur
mace into which were cast the three Hebrew
children, that could toast or melt the finty
heart Of an old Bachelor. "0ld Maids" are
susceptible to the last. There is a kindlines'
Of feeling, a generous sympathy that can b,
aroused even in the most vinegary ofthis mucl
abused class. But an old Bach. has no re
deeming quality. To toast or melt him
would be to burn to cinder the little, dry
withered something, that has taken the plac
where a heart used to grow.