The Potter journal. [volume] (Coudersport, Pa.) 1857-1872, 1859-03-17


hope, and in either dim eye tear up
springing from the deep fount of joy
That was the mother. In what other
face on earth could blend that minghng
of awe-of joy-of tenderness? And
the babc-his lips were parted and moist
and the color of the rose bud family
struggling out Of its green sheath had
crept over their delicate outlines The
darling hands no longer lay in rigid rest,
the glazing of disease mad fallen from the
blue orbs-and he had smiled his fare
well to the angels who had come to carry
him to their children's playground, where
blossoms never fade-if it had been the
Masters will.
"The doctor says he won't die :"
Oh what throb in the mothers heart
when these words were spoken. She will
press him again to her breast-watch him
in his ftful sleep his little hands
in her bosom--make the white robe-but
not .t0r his cotin! Did ever footsteps
sound so gentle as those Of the kind ply
sician as he moves softly from the room ?
Was ever a mother so blessed before p
Did God ever seem 50 great--so good?
"The doctor says he won't die :"
It might have been the father-the
strong man. He came home feverish-
said his head felt strangely: he could eat
no supper. He pushed the babe from
his knee-he was not wont to do so. The
wife looked on wondering-and when she
smoothed the pillow on the lounge, felt
an unnatural heat. The morning come !;
he said he must 90 10 work-but his hand
trembled-hls limbs refused to do their
ofhce-the coat was not taken from the
wall that day; his cane stood in the cor
ner-a carriage before the gate. Dawn
after dawn whitened the heavens and the
earth-there was no change. The wife
slept mother love watched and waited
and cried yearningly to God for his life.
But there arc glad tidings; rejoice even
as you trembled, sweet wife:
the doctor says he won't die"
Perhaps we did not hear Alright. 1t
may be the child exclaimed
"The doctor says she won't die !"
fit was the mother. She upon whose
hands, whose feet, whose heart, whose
every faculty little world depended for
its sunshine, almost for It's continuance,
doubly dear the gentle assurance of the
good doctor
Did you ever feel a silence more op-
pressive and omenouS than reigns in the
household when "motherS sick 2" The
babe mourns at his play-the children
look about absently in a hopeless kind of
way-the very furniture seems mutely
asking where she is whose care it has so
long known. Every footstep echoes hol-
lowly, every heart sighs involuntary, and
seems asking of itself if it has done that
which the sight Of green grave would
condemn. There are prayers going up
all over the house--the husband comes
in hurriedly-aSks no observation-disclosures
no queries, but goes stealthily to the dark
ened chamber, and there, perhaps, when
heartand hope almost desert him, he hears
the blessed words;
"The doctor says she won't die !"
He looks just as grave when he goes
down; he tells the news gravely to the
children-but seems brighter as he leaves
the house. There is not a man he calls
his enemy. lie smiles as he enters the
store; there is a blessedness within his
bosom such as he never felt before. and
strangers say as they leave him:
"There is something unusually pleas
ing about that man"
So there is! They are right there
That vision of a grave has gone, and flow
ers are springing up in its stead. He
does not shiver as he passes the window
where the coffinS stand-"The doctor
says she won't die ."-and be has faith.
Thus light springs up in darkness
and after the sorrow Of night, JOY colneth.
- Pcfeys0U'S HyJJzjup