Western Reserve chronicle. [volume] (Warren, Ohio) 1855-1921, 1864-06-15
The Hearth and Fender.

The hearth and fender look beau
tiful to the gentle. Ambition, even
when ~gratifed, cannot sooth pain or
still the throbbing temple. Wealth
never satisfies the heart. Fame is
like the crumbling frosting to bride
cake-hard to make-easily broken.
If there was a skylight in our final
house so We could see who laughed
AMI who wept when the machine-like
sexton spat upon his hands, grasped
the shovel and shove in on its son
rous roof the first sod or mass OF fro
zen dirt and stones-or if there were
windows so we could see who closed
their stores and who folloWed after
with sad hearts, there would be some
satisfaction in death-but. Words
are cheap-they conceal ones
thoughts. Men call US friends-for
fun. They use US as hunters do rifles
when gone, get another.
We pick up much rubbish as We
look along through life-we learn
much rot worth knowing-we cut
the leaves to many a book for no ben
eft-we carry many a pile of Stag
thinking it to be virgin ore, We coil
for as many a rope of sand.IA
But there is q light to life for all.
There is a cushioned seat if we but
use it-BY THE HEARTH AND FENDER.
When the toll is over. there you can
enter. Some one heart from all of
Gods has ran into your own: side by
side you sit and dream of the golden
future. How like Heaven are the
Home bowers lining our path into the
road beyond. The world may have
all the day been cheerless-the cares
of business may have been,like thorny
crowns, as they often arctic friends
of morn may have been like the dew
the keen word, ungrateful act, or
marked neglect may have cut to the
heart-there is still n place left.
HoME.
1t is a pleasant picture. The clink-
ing gate opens the eyelids of some
one within-the footstep on the walk
falls on the "a like pleasant memo
ries-the hand that touches the door
knob stills for a moment the heart in
waiting; tho well known presence felt
by love lightens the load of the day
the word, the kiss, the gentle clasp
the loveit glance revealing to each
other treasures the world knows not
of-the gentle drawing to your breast
of the heart which so loves you-the
sigh of relief as the Heaven is reach
ed-more eloquent than words, more
fervent than heat. These indicate a
ohapterin life's great book, but few
ever read them.
Home is the place. Not the sem
blance-but the reality, as God in
tended il.
When the labor of a long day is
over, how blessed it is to have a
hearth and fender. The blasts may
howl misunderstanding may rattle
wagons may rumble-bells may
jingle-dogs may bay at the cold
moon-those You hate may plot for
your ruin-the tempest may rage in
fury-who cares? The labor of the
day is over. Some one has kissed the
last shade of sorrow away. Some
lips have thawed the frozen heart
some gentle hand has cleared from
you the clouds of care which for
hours have hung so dark and sombre
over the heart, some one nearer than
life to you has nestled by your side,
or sits 10 your lap with one arm
around your neck; her soft cheek with
electric touch setting your face in a
tremor-eyes looking home into mys-
tic depths-happv! Who cares for the
world? Who cares for brambles lin
ing the road?
The past pictures are n by one
brought up-the future is bravely
looked inro-the present IL improved.
New life for the morrow is given
New wishes are born unto you. The
hours of evening glide on. The heart
all your own is gladdened by your
presence. The minutes drop
of Ike stitches from knitting needles
run still closer in together, and
you are happy.