The Union and journal. [volume] (Biddeford, Me.) 1858-1882, 1861-01-11
VOL. XVII.

groOyed into the bending heavens, II as mel
aneholy US dying.
Now, brothers are born abroad, by the
wayside, ON the train. in town and country
everywhere, but in the old "hOmestead. =
There is even bond woven closer than a
common pulse. the bond woven Of identical
association. The same trees to dream under
the same hearth TO creep to, the same wood
to be sprinkled with rainbows, the same
meadows for the berries and the birds, and
the one brook for the angling, the same
birthplace for the dead-for they are "born
into the spirit world" now-a-day-the like
sweet faith for the living: these are the
things which make that saying true, "better
Is friend that is near, than brother atar
off," Not born along the trail or the war
path. but in the place hallowei by that love
whose embrace warns US into life, and those
dyings that ally us to the dwellers in the
bright homestead of Heaven. and make us
"pOOr relation" Of the people in Paradise.
To be born at neighbOr's, to sit In the
twilight OF an alien, to love the vine that
strangers have trained, is the lot of more
thau half the world. Happy is he who can
trace the far apart threads of lives that are
lovely, till they all converge in some dear
beginning of living ana loving. Let those
threads be goSsamer, floating never 80 lightly
on the summer wind, il only they are fas-
tened there; let that beginning be Of the
humblest, If it only be my home and yours;
il only ours and theirs.
And happy he, the landscape Of whose
childhood cannot be efhccd by Vandals like
a record upon slate where God did some
plowing as we think, and left the furrows of
his hills, or the mighty bout Of His mount
aims, but where in fact He wrote with his
fingers. eyeu as ON the tables Of stone ON ST.
mai, and scLlptured home for US when liy-
ing, that should outlast the Sexton's for us
when dead. Thank God they cannot say to
the great billOw Of green that tosses forest
above the cot where we were bOrn,'' Peace
be still, and those billows shall obey. They
may make an eylet hole indeed through the
mountain. and iling the iron shuttle with its
thread of thunder from base to base, but the
sun must still climb those eastern cliffs be-
fore it is morning. and they must glow with
the last steps OF day before ii can be night
Going in the morning? And they do now.
Like young quails with the hemisphere of a
shell upon their backs do the children dart
hither and thither, all over the heritage of
the world, away from the hearth and home
steads and begin to live; forget the low
caves where they crept into the world, and
the music that was under them, in their
passion for getting, and we hope somebody
may be found TO forgive them when memory,
like the deep, shall surrender its dead.
Going in the morning And very pleas
ant time, when the sky is all beautiful, and
the world all fresh ere the dews have gone
TO heaven, OF the stars have gone to God
when the birds are singing, and the cool
winds are blowing, and the flowers are out
that will shut at noon, and the clouds that
are never rent in twain, and the shadows,
inlaid with crimson, lie away to the west.
A very pleasant time to 90 it is indeed
and many went yesterday, more to-day, and
there aro tears To be shed for the departures
tomorrow. And can il be wondered that
these pleasant spring mornings should be-
guile them into going? Is it marvel that
they do not wait for the burden of the noon,
butfollow the lark and her song over the
rim of the rainbow? That those words 50
beautiful, they should make 50 true, &" And
JOY cOmeth in the morning."
We have sometimes seen little collin,
like q casket of jewels, all alone by itself in
a huge hearse, melancholy with plumes and
gloomy as frOwn, and have thought not 50
should we accompany those little way
who 90 in the morning. Wehaye wonder
ell what cause there was for tears in such u
going carly in the morning from home to
home, the fair white doves with downy
wings emerging from neither night and
fluttering for entrance at the windows of
Heaven. Never yet has there been hand
wanting 10 take the wanderers in and shut
out the darkness and storm.
Upon theselittle faces il never seemed TO
us that death could place his great seal
there is no thought Of the charnel hOnse in
those young listeners 10 that invitation whose
acceptance we are bound not 10 forbid, these
should be morning songs, and not sghs, fresh
flowers, and not badges of mourning, no
tears nor clouds, but bright dews ndbright
dawnings together.
Fold up the bright robe lay aside the
forgotten toy; smooth the little impressed
pillow, and gently smile as You think of the
garment OF beauty, Of the harp of gold, and
OF the fair white brow with its diadem OF
light; smile as you think no years can make
that memory old; an eternal guiltless child
waiting about the threshold Of Paradise for
tho coming of an absent friend from home.
Here the glad lips would culver with an.
guish the bright curls grow griIzled and
grey. the young heart heavy and old, bot
there changeless as the stars, and young as
the last new morning.
The poet tells OF green bough rent by
1 a.. ,.f,,Nsst frnn the tr,Ae and swept rulely
along the breast Of an angry river, and a
mother bird with cries Of grief huttering be-
side il, for her nest aud nestlings were there.
oh better to be waited away from earth,
than thus that homes should drift around
the world in storms.
Going in the morning And thus day by
day as the golden sands are running out do
we realize that
| There Is no union here OF hearts
That finds not here an end"