The Daily empire. (Dayton, Ohio) 1865-1867, 1866-11-12
THE DAILY EMPIRE.
n. Il. ROBINSON,
PUBLISHER AND PROPRIETOR.
$50 TIREDy'

| Weary oflifc, ah no-but Of lfc's woe;
| weary Of all its troubles and ITS cares
Nitling 20 rcst-bec0use so well / know
| What draughts Che hand Of Passion still pre-
| pares.
$50 tired y A little child came paptip,
In from play, the Othernight and climbing
into its mothers lap, laid its head upon hel
bosom, and uttered those two words.
saw. the fond young mother brush tn,
golden hair from the darling's moist fore
mead, and press her lips again and again {,
| the flushed checks. The shadows of even.
! ing were falling fast around us. and tn
birds had already sung themselves to slerp
! Little shoes and stockings were drawn ut
and laid aside--littlc weary feet bathed apt
cOoled-a little night-dress took the piac,
of the pretty blue frocS and white apron
and the boy was quiet. With sigh o
satisfaction he nestled closer In her arms
/ his blue eyes closed, and her cradle-sons
grew lower and lower rs his breath cam,
| longer and more regularly through hi
Iparted lips Happy sleep of childhood
She rose and went softly to her own room
to lay him In bis little crib, and was lcf
alone. Heaven knows what memory of ,
time when |, too, was Graded upona loyinc
| breast-when the dead mother whose fac,
| | cannot remember sung so to me in Tia,
| twiiight-came over me as / took up the
| infants cry.
$50 tircdr' A man of business--a man
whose name is ona bond on Wall street
Why should he lean his head upon hi.
hand, and sigh rs the words fall from hi.
| lips? Tired ofhis gay and busy life. of his
| elegant home, his fair daughters, and his
| fashionable wife Tired of all these. and
longing for the little red farm house Ilt
among tile hills of his native home, where
he used to play, a bare footed, light-hearted
boy EYen so, strange rs it may seem
Yet not SO much for the farm house, as ioI
the happiness and innocence that staid be-
hind with 1t, and which he can never hope
to find in his dusty office, or his splendid
home.
80 tiredw She has been n loving wife
and ah 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-
band Other youth died long ago; and to-
day, her sixtieth birth day, she sits alone
in her deserted homestead. To hcr bows
She is "the old woman TO their militant
wives N good old thing but so old fash
ioned = to their homes aud their children
almost stranger Her fears fall as she
thinks of them in distant city. gay, pros
porous, wealthy and happy, yet nOtremcm-
bcring her on this day, even by line, to
suy. "Deal mothcr | love you." This is
her reward for Years oftoil, care. and aux
icty. She has Ouiiivcd 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
womau Wcl may the bitter tears fa}t
last-wcll may you loug to die! For this
is often the return for love and devotion
that have 0utWairlfcd tile stars, and seen
the moon grow palcl
$50 tired I" Yes, iurn from the brilliant
crowd that listen eagerly for every word
you inter- ialI scHgstress. and heed what
your heart is SAYING Words of fire may
lili from your rapid pcH-your own Wild
soul may stamp lis Impress upon the page
of laurel upon your bowed hcad-bu, IL
Nill be diadCm OF tlorlS. In the highjh
OF tliumph--in the fever % succCss-therr
win come n sudden pause, and the iron
Twill enter your soul as you remember that
one voice Is silent and one face still, calln
and cold. Fame, wealth, success-oh what
are these to happiness: Nanity-vanity
all, aud ''VcXation 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 10 sink into the tranquil sleep of death,
within the shelter of her arms, than to
tread the path which we are trcadiug
There are sharp thorns hidden among the
tairest ilowers--there are treacherOus quick
sands 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, il may be, and the blue
eyes will wear an anxious look before the
painful journey is half done, and evil
shapes will mock and mutter when thy
heart faileth thee and thy steps are faint.
80 tircdr My boy, cling closer to thy
mothers breast For a day will surely
come when thy lips will utter those self
same words, and she will not be beside
thee. to hush thee into forgethillness 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
rcstw