Prescott journal. [volume] (Prescott, Wis.) 1861-1871, 1862-04-09

pray the Lord my soul TO keep,
II should die before I wake,
] pray the Lord my soul to take.
Who are you, man or woman, for
whom this prayer has not old, sweet as
sociations; who, hearing its words. hear
not too The ''memofy bells" ringing up
from the golden plains of your childhood.
aud feel not the soft gales from the morn
ING land Of your life sweeping over your
soul.
You may be q naa now, in the priio
and strength of your years; You may
have carved out for yourself an honora-
ble name and destiny in this world -
mayhap YOU IRE the owner of broad lands
and proud homes, and tour heart has
grown hard in its battle with the world.
But stop moment, and listen to this
little yersc-so simple that the merest
babe who learns to lisp the words can
comprehend them, and so grand IN it,
sublime significance and faith, that the
wisest shall only have learned fully tho
true lessons Of life when the soul uttcrs
them as it did in its infancy.
Let us see! how many years ago was
it twenty, thirty; no matter, at tho
old sound Of 'Now lay me-" they have
rolled their massive doors, and you O.
down through them to the old red, ono
story house where YOUR life first took its
morning. You see the little windows on
tho right side, close under the rafters, nh
how you slept sounder slumber, and
dreamed sweeter dreams in that old gar
ret than you ever did in your lofty chani4
bers, with the giIded ceiling and snowy
draterics; and what if your bed was
straw one, and your coyerIct made of red
and yellow ''patches" of Calico you new
/ err laid down SO contentcdly under voar
spring mattresses aud Marseiles counter.
! panea.
'Nou / my me- how softly sleep
would come and weigh down your eve
| lids as you repeated the words after her;
aye! you may hear her very tones now
stealing across your heart, though it is so
! many years since death sicnce,l them.
/ YOU feel the soft touch Of her hand on
yopr pillow, and the tender lingering of
her kiss upon your lips-yoa break dowu
here, proud man as you are-this memo
/ ry Of your mother is more than you can
bear. Il she had only lived, you would
not have been what YOU are now; but
thanks be TO God, she left you something
lo'y and beyond all mean;og; something
that cannot grow old and dim, not even
in the indispensable brightness" beyond
the shining gates-the memory Of low
/ inc, praying, christian mother.
Reader, it may be many years since
! you have said this prayer, OF, alas it
may be that in the din and struggle of
life you have forgotten to pray at NIL, a..i
that night after night you have lain down
on your pillow, never thinking of tho
shining ranks of angels that Gods mercy
rtationed round, or thanking Him for the
/ day or for the night.
But come back we beseoch you, to the
old prayer of your childhood. You eau
not have outgrowu that-no matter if
your hair is frosted with snow of Iife's
December, and if your years arc three
score and ten. Kncel down by YOUR bed
! side. and uttering these words, see if
something Of the old peace and faith OF
your childhood does not come back to
/ you; if something Of lis dew and bless
ing fall not upon yonr s!un4her.
Aud remember that Soones or later, vou
must ''lie down to sleep" when tins
prayer will be all your soul can take-all
that will avail Of your rank, or wealth.,
or fame, whatsoever you most prize in
this world IS but The slladow of eternity.
All! We shall soon pass the
'Graen threshold Of our common graves .
but The little prayer, the fr.t, It may be.
that we took upon "nr childish lips, shall
follow lis as we sail out under the sol
CHM arches of The "River of DEATH
follow us. sweet. faint, tender air fronl
the shores, and when we snail cast at,
Choir
The Lord my soul shall take