The Hillsdale standard. [volume] (Hillsdale, Mich.) 1851-1909, 1861-05-14
From the Newsgo Republican.
A MOURNER,s REvERIE.

FROM the Newsgo Republican.
A MOURNER's REvERIE.
II is night. "Lone, solemn night" TIL,
freshly fallen snow lies cold upon the earth
and rests heavily upon the evergreen branches
OF tho mighty pines which rear their majesti,
heads toward heaven, and monn and sigh L
each other, oh so wearily throughout The
day and the lveloug night. No other sound
Is heard now save the continued roar Of the
waters, as they pour onward toward thei
westward home. The din of the day hat
ceased; there is no clattering of the busy
mills, no sound Of the hammer, no rattling Of
wheels. All is peaceful and quiet without
The fnll, round moon shines forth as brightly
in the eastern sky from among the floating
feecy clouds, and the loving stars look out ..
happily from their far of homes, as they were
wont to do before the great sorrows Of life
came. unbiddeu, into the heart and cast their
mantle upon the spirit like funeral pail.
Far away upon yonder hill. there lie the
shadows Of the old, towering pines which
stand thick upon it, and they seem to me like
mournful memories of the past; like the real
shadows which lie far away beyond mortal
sight upon the SOUL At the base Of the
same bill flows the stream upon whose darkly
shaded banks stands the dropping hemock
and dips "its feathery branches" in the
streams pure tide. It's murmuring cadences,
sad and low, speak too plainly to the heart,
Of the "long ago." and yet, too, they whisper
of glorious future when the sorrows of earth
shall be no more.
Loneliness and sadness, drearinem and sor-
row, look upon me and speak to my heart,
from the shining moon and glowing stars,
from the moaning winds and sighing pinss,
flom the murmuring stream aud roaring river.
| think of her who so lately looked with me
upon all these, and whose soul took delight
in them, but who has now gone to that land
where "they have no need of the sun. neither
of the moon .L;oe i'm IL; for the glory Of
God lightens it, and the Lamb is the light
thereof"
There ale other sad thoughts that come to
me also at this silent hour. think of those
little ones who are left in tho world without
a mothers love before they are old enough
to know its worth. call TO mind that little
faxen-head over which have passed tho SHOWS
OF but four winters and the winds Of three
summers. Stranger hands must perform for
her those offices which q mother would have
loved to do. No mothers eye to watch the
unfolding intellect; no mothers care to lead
the young mind upward to truth and God;
or, If sickness preys upon the frame, not the
magic ca es Of mother, her loving tones
and smiles, who can soothe the pangs Of sick
ness as can no earthly friend. And oh if
spared, whom beset by the trials and the
Of life, who then can give
mothers counsel, mothers warning, q moth.
er's prayersi
There's another little form, far away now,
over snow covered bills and rivers and forests,
whose chubby bands and dimpled face have
seen hardly moro than six short months of
earth. lie is Graded upon the same Gear bo-
som which long, weary years ago, gave me a
mothers care,aud the samo lullabys are chant
"d e~o' hi'n as used 10 calm ,uy inrant tears
and soothe me to rest. But she who, to give
life to him, it would seem, yielded up tho
very foundations Of her own, will nevermore
catch the lustrs Of his eye never listen to his
innocent prattc, watch not the approach of
his steps TO manhood:
Thus speaks the world without, and il | |
Turn my attention within, memories no less
sad, como throngiDg over me. Here are Il Q
paintings which her hand fashioned, the pen |
ilings which her delicate fingers so dainty
Executed, and thick all about me are the |
many little tokens of her cunning and skill.
tere the "Scrap Book" has reserved somo Of
he many songs and sketches which have
ound their way to the newspaper world, and
here in the "Composition Books" are many,
cry many more which the world has never
oen. And here is the Portfolio. Let us
"a little unfinished scrap in pencling,
Or lille offering to the lille hoy. 1t must
e preserved here; it was undoubtedly among
he last which her feeble hand ever traced.
Autumn cometh, brown-eyed Autumn
With her brow sunburnt and bare
Threads Of sunlight. mellow sunlight,
Gliding all her golden hair,
And the softest, richest music
Floating on the whispering air.
She hath come to me in sorrow
OF among the years gone by,
With her harp strings strung to sadness,
Anda mournful, tear dimmed eye,
And her red lips only wearing,
Only breathing 6tful sighs.
Now listen to her light step,
And her sweet voice near the door
Mong the yellow tinted leaflets,
'hong the vines I've trained before:
And drink in richer music,
Holier joy than eer before.
For a little"
nd the song is exchanged { that triumph.
ni strain Of the spirit land where there are
0 "barp-strings strung to sadness" Oh
hen shsl life's work be done, and we be {
ermitted to join those who have gone be- !
,re usi II. BRoss.
Newaygo, March IL, 1861. I
From the Detroit Tribune.
m nj. ChiIfoo nd Vse.t ha nxurc