Yorkville enquirer. [volume] (Yorkville, S.C.) 1855-2006, 1858-08-05
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From Arthur's Home Magazine.
"NOW 7 LAY ME-"
"Now l lay me down to sleep;
I pray the Lord my soul to keep,


Who are you man or woman, for whom
this prayer has no old, sweet associations;
who, hearing its words, hear not, too, the
"memory bells" ringing up from the golden
plains of your childhood, and feel not the
soft gales from the morning land of your
life sweeping over your soul.
You may be man now, in the pride and
strength of your years; you may have carved
out for yourself an honorable name and
destiny in this world-mayhap you are the
owner of broad lands and proud homes, and
your heart has grown hard in its battle with
the world.
But stop moment and listen to this little
verse, the merest babe who learns to lisp the
words can comprehend them, so grand in its
sublime sis ignifcance and faith that the wisest
sage shall have only learned fully the true
lesson of life, when his soul can utter them
as it uttered them in his Infancy.
Let's see; how many years ago was it;
twenty, thirty, forty; no matter, at that old
sound of 'Now I lay me, they have all roll
ed back their massive doors, and you go
down through them to the old red, one story
house, where your frstlife took on its morn
ing. You see the little window on the right
side, close under the rafters; ah, you slept
rslumber, and dreamed sweeter dreams
in that old garret, than you ever have in
your lofty chambers, with the gilded ceilings
and snowy draperies; and what matter If
your bed was straw one, and your coverlet
made of red and yellow patches of calico,
you never snugglcd down so coutentcdly un-
der your spring mattresses, and marsellles
counterpanes.
sNow I lay me- how softly sleep would
come aud weigh down your eyelids, as you
repeated the words after her; ah, you can
hear her very tones now, stealing across your
heart, though it is SO many years since death
sileuced them, and you feel, too, the soft
touch of her hand on your pillow, and the
tender lingering of her kiss on your lips
you break down here, proud man as you are;
the memory of your mother is more than
you can bear. If she had only lived, you
would not be what you are now; but blessed
be God, she left you something holy and pre-
cious beyond all naming; something that
cannot grow old nor dim, not even in the
sunspeakable brightness beyond the shining
gates-the memory of loving, praying,
christian mother!
Reader, it may be many years since you
prayed this prayer; or, alas it maybe, in
the din and struggle of life you have forgot
ten to pray at all, and that night after night
YOU have lain down on your pillow never
thinking of the shining ranks Of angels that
Gods mercy stationed around you, or thank
ing Him for the day and for the night.
But come back, We beseech you, come
back to the old prayer of your childhood
You cannot have outgrown that, no matter
if your hair is frosted with the SHOWS oflife's
December, and if your years are three score
and ten. Kneel down by your bedside; and
uttering these words, zee if something OF
the old peace and faith of childhood does
not come back to you if something OF its
dew and its blessing fall not upon your slum-
ber!
And remember, that sooner or later you
must die down to Sleep when this prayer
will be all your soul can take; all that will
avail you of your rank, or wealth, or fame,
whatsoever you most prize in this world,
which is but the shadow of eternity. An,
we shall all soon pass the
"Green thresholds of our common graves"
but this little prayer, the first it may be that
we took upon our childish lips, shall follow
US as we sail out under the solemn arches
that overshadow the River of Death, fol-
low us, a sweet, faint, tender air, from the
shores we have left, to the shores upon which
we shall cast anchor, and
"The Lord our soul shall Take"
V. F. T.