Daily Ohio statesman. [volume] (Columbus, Ohio) 1855-1870, 1866-11-09
0Dblo SStatesrlrarr,
g So Tired!,,
Weary Of life, an, no-but Of life's woe;
Weary Of all IFS troubles and It's cares


Weary Of life, an, no-but Of ifes woe;
Weary Of all It's troubles and its cares .. I'd
Willing 10 rest-becanse so well know H .u.'..
What draughts the hand Of Passion still prepares
SO tired!" A little child came pant
ing in from play, the other night, and
climbing intoits mothers lap, laid its head
upon her bosom, and uttered those two
words. l saw the fond young mother brush
the golden hair from the darlings moist
forehead, and press her lips again and again
to tile flushed cheeks, The shadows of
evening were falling fast around us, and
the birds had already sung themselves to
sleep. Little shoes and stockings were
drawn off and laid aside--little weary feet
bathed and cooled--a little night t-dress took
the place of tho pretty blue froek and white
apron, aud the boy was quiet. With sigh
Of satisfaction he nestled closer in her
arms; his blue eyes closed, and her cradle
song grew lower and lower as his breath
came longer and more regularly through
his parted lips. Happy sleep of childhood!
She rose anu went softly to her own room,
to lay him in his little crib, and | was LETT
alone. Heaven knows what memory Of a
time when /, too, was cradled upon low
ing breast-when the dead mother, whose
face cannot remember, sung so to me in
the twilight-came over me as took up the
$50 tiredl" A man of business-a man
whose name is on bond on Wall street,.
Why should he lean his head upon bis
hand and sigh rs the words fall frOmhis lips?
Tired Of his gay and busy lite, of his ele-
CANT home, his fair daughters, aud his fash
ionable wife Tired of all these, and long
ing for the little red farm house up among
the hills of his native home, where he used
to play, bare-footed, lght-hearted boy!-
Even so, strange rs 1t may seem! Yet not
so much for the farm house, rs for the hap
pness and innocence that staid behind with
it, and which he can never hope to find in
his dusty office, orhis splendid home. ...#
$50 tiredw She has been a loving wife
and an indulgent mother Six strong sons
has she reared beside that cottage hearth,
but the grave has claimed them all but two,
and those the world has taken. The hus-
hand of her youth died long ago; and to-
day. her sixtieth birthday, she sits alone
in her deserted homestead. To her boys
she is ''the old woman to their brilliant
wives "a good old thing but so old fashion,
ed :" to their homes aud their children al
most stranger. Her tears fall as she thinks
of them in distant city, gay, prosperous,
wealthy and happy, yet not remembering
her, on this day, even by a line, to say,
dear mother, love YOU" This is her re-
ward for years of toll, care, and anxiety
She has outlived her generation, and when
she dies, she will hardly be missed by those
to whom she has given health and strength,
and life itself. Poor lonely old woman.-
| Well may the bitter tears fall fast-well
may you long TO die! For this is often the
| return for love and devotion that have out
watched the stars, and seen the moon grow
| pale! ~. III. D.. ....
$50 tired! Yes, turn from the brilliant
crowd that listen eagerly for every word
you utter, fair sOngstress, and heed what
your heart is saying. Words of fire may
| fall from your rapid pen-your own wild
soul may stamp its impress upon the page
before you-the world may place the crown
of laurel upon your bowed head-butit will
be diadem of thoTns. In The hcighth of
triumph the fever of success-there will
come sudden pause, and the iron will en-
ter your soul as you remember that one
voice is silent, and one face still, calm and
cold. Fame, wealth. success-oh! what
are these to happiness? Vanity-vanity
all, and "vexation of spirit" and you bow
your head and weep to think that it should
| be so
Oh! little child, not yet released from
| thy mothers care, it would be better for
| thee to sink into the tranquil sleep of death,
| within the shelter OF her arms, than to tread
the path which we are treadingl There are
sharp thorns hidden among tie fairest flow
ers-there are treacherous quicksands in
| the sweetest valleys. God help thee, boy,
| for only hand from Heaven can lead thee
safely there: The golden hair will turn to
silver, it may be, and the blue eyes will
wear an anxious look before. the painful
ljorrney Is half done, and evil Shapes will
mock and mutter when thy heart faileth
thee, and thy steps are faint. ''
80 tired!" My boy, cling closer to thy
mothers breast! For day will surely
come when thy lips will utter those self
same words, and she will not be beside thee,
to hush thee into forgetfulness of all thy
trouble. God help thee, then, and lead thee
to the only refuge where the wicked cease
from troubling, and the weary are at rest y