Nashville patriot. [volume] (Nashville, Tenn.) 1858-1860, 1858-03-02


" IT'S now the very witching hour Of night,
When chnrchysrds yawn, and hell itself breathes on.
oontagion to the world :"
Beautiful city of the Soulful who would
dream to gaze upon thy lofty spires, and mar
bic mansions, that mystery and misery were
dwelling in thy very midsts AN is quiet,
hustle and confusion have subsidized the cabs
and omnibuses have ceased their deafning
rattle; the street-stragglers have departed,
each his separate way-the beggar to his loath-
some hut, the thief to his dram-shop and mid
night reyel. No sound breaks the stiffness,
save now and then at weary intervals the
baton of a Waterman ringing holloway against
the stone bdnyudte, or the slow heavy football
of some printer vending his way home from
his hard toll. God bless him.
See the soft moonlight, how it rest as a
beautiful silver veil fringed with mist, over the
magnificent architecture of the Cathedral
Hank, to its deep-toned bell, it slowly and
solemnly tells of the "witching hour of nightl''
List to the mournful murmur of the mighty
Father of Rivers" as be winds majestically
along his crescent course. My heart hears no
ballad of gladness from the sparkling waves
tonight, only a sorrowful requiem to the
Past
We will walk far out Canal street. Surely
where there is so nuch wealth and beauty,
there is certainly something to suggest happy
thoughts.
Art thou gone too all comfort go with thee
For none abdes with me my JOY is death"
See that cottage, in the shadow of the grand
ediice, almost buried in trees and creeping
vines, that fairly smile in beauty and innocence
Home, seems written all around it. This, in
feed, gives me happy thoughts, for in home
like this, l first learnt the blessing of dear
mothers love first knew the sweet influence
of an only sisters confidence and affection !;
first felt the holy spell of brothers. consola-
ton and encouragement. Oh, happy hearts,
rs mine then was, must now be slumbering
beneath that humble roof! / can picture, in.
frames of love, the wax-like faces-curly heads
of dear children, weary of their little cares
tired of play, now sleeping tranquil I'M
broken sleep of innocence, for which they will
yearn in after years when the world of sor-
row has put its impress upon their hearts
And happy mother, the sweet children's
mother, sleeping in glad contentment near the
noble heart that asked her girl-lOve, and won
q woman's worship! Oh fond husband, wear
her in your heart of hearts, for it is grand
thing this woman-love Who may know its
depth and glory!
Yes, yes! There must be heaven of hap
piness in this beautiful cot. Hushl what
was that? was it the wind? Listen again
Now, it comes to my heart, for 10, It's the fear
full wall of anguish! And from the cottage,
too. Open the wicket gate, We will enter.
Step softly for behold little coffin with a
wreath of fresh, white flowers upon it, to fade,
alas! as did the bud beneath the lid, but not
as it to hover around the Almighty Fathers
throne with golden wings.
Why should we weep and feel sad that there
il another angel added to Heaven?
That He hath sent to His sinless one,
His own beloved, seepl"
Look upon the dropping form of the young
mother as she stands in agony and prayer by
the little coffin. She is now all alone in this
wide world; well may'st thou wall in heart
rending grief, childness mother; our God, in
love and mercy, gave thee gem of peerless,
Heaven-beauty,
4" We might indeed have known,
II had not long to stay,
Where sorrow dms the night,
And fingers through the day ;"
Never more shall it raise its rosy lips to
thine in all the fondness of childhood's warm
affection; memory tells thee thou artdesolate;
it tells too, of thousand soft and winning
ways that Irvine around the mothers bosom;
and of the sweet, wild throbbings of unspeak-
able bliss that were thine when softly sooth-
ing and repose. Now the nursery will no
more resound with its gladstone mirth; the
cradle, in which it so often repOsed, is now
desolate. Thy ark of refuge is indeed wreck
ed. Father, mother brother, sister, and the
husband of thy heart, thy only child! All, all
gone! Thou hast nothing left to live for; thou
canst but lift thy soul above the many graves
and pray our God, to take thee home to the
loved ones in Hcaven Mortals cannot allie
viate thy misery-it is of the soul and must
abide the time of the Great Jehovah.
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