The Potter journal. [volume] (Coudersport, Pa.) 1857-1872, 1867-01-01
THE CROSS UPON THE THRESHOLD.

"W hither, whittier, in the midnight,
Little loue one wouldst thou go?''
But she hears not, and the snow drift
| browns the voice that bids her stay;
And, afar along the pathway
Speed those little feet away
Hurrying whittier? Blessed Saviour
Speed those little feet away!
Feet and hands are cracked and bleeding,
Feet, and hands, and head are bare,
And the frozen sleet, like Jewels,
Clusters in her golden hair;
Tattered garments fiutter 'round her,
Battling with the bitter air.
All! how shrinks the cow'ring infant,
AS the fierce blast chlls her through;
Feehly dies her voice of wailing,
For her lips are still and blue,
And the tears cling to her eyellds,
Frozen there in icy dew.
Onward, through the gathering darkness,
Still she totters in her flight;
Weary, lonely, like Pleaid
Wandering in the outer night.
Is there no one? Is there no one,
Keeping for her warmth and light?
IL
Ruddy glow from happy homes,
And sweet, merry, childish laughter,
Ringing on the bleak wind comes;
For tonight they sport all hopeful,
With the Christmas elves and gnomes.
Happy children Happy parents
Blest the roof that shields you here'
Tender father! Gentle mother
Loving sister Brother dearl
Not frown to mar Your pleasure,
Every JOY and comfort near!
Christmas eve the freight dances
On the pictured parlor-wall,
And apart in cozy chambers,
Gifts are ranged for one and all;
While below, the blazng kitchen
Sends its cheer through court and hall.
And, there, cleaning past the curtain,
See the glitterng Chrstmas-tree,
Hung with ,olden fruit and trinkets
For the fun that Is to be!
0, the candies o, the treasures
On that glorious Christmas-tree
Then, the tables spread for feasting,
Pies, and cakes, and comtits piled
Rosy apples, nuts and rasins,
Grapes whereon the Tropic smiled,
Heaped together-what an Eden.
For the homeless, starving child
Now. look on her, where she crouches,
Close beside the friendly door,
While she counts the dancing footsteps
As they clatter o'cr the floor;
They are singing Christmas carols,
Singing till their hearts brim o'er
Al Il ,uo+oLoc 4b..,ol, Al ..-:.,l
Little faces like her own,
Beaming with celestial pleasure
Glossy ringlets backwards thrown;
As the father clasps his darIings,
With sweet words she too has known.
FlOwery wreaths that deck the mantel
Frame this picture, as she peers.
Holly twined with buds and roses
Types of happy by-gone years
For her, too, they wove gay garlands,
In the happy by gone years
o, dear father-O sweet mother,
Where are you who loved me so
And her little heart outbursting
Walls 'oud its wordless woe;
For alas they sleep together,
This wild night, beneath the snow.
dp uptH buc HcdNS CdSeHlcnG,
Tap her hands would make a sign,
Take me in, kind Christian people
All these joys, they once were mine
Here l die of cold and hunger
Heads her but the Ear Divine
Now the curtain drawn more closely,
And the splend"r fading too,
Drowsy bells in hidden steeplos
Toll the heavy midnight through;
All is hushed save distant revel,
And the Storm-king's noisy crew
Now, the bride dreams of her bridegroom,
And the bridegroom, too, is blest
Now, the mother hugs her bantling
Where it nestles on her breast,
Age and childhood both are happy
In that heavenly Chris tmas rest.
But no home receives the lone one,
And no mothers fond address
Smooths her pillow in the snowdrift,
Aud no fathers hand may bless
That lost fedging on the doorstep,
Yielding there to Deaths caress
Lo! behold a sudden glory!
List soft music in the air
And she rises radiant lovely.
Clasps her hands and kneels in prayer.
See an infant form resplendent
Standing right before her there
On its head, crown of starlight
Shedding lustre o'er its face
Heavenly mildness every feature
All Its bearing sweetest grace
W bite robes, pure and bright as silver,
Lightning up that gloomy place
From its brow the tresses parted,
Float aside in sunny sheen,
And its eyes-the deepest, clearest,
That our mortal sight bath seen.
Full of tenderest loyelight, beamiug
Summer o'er the wintry scene
Hark it speaks its arms extended
Beckon to that lonely one
"Come to me, poor 'ittle stranger,
For thy pilgrimage is done %
Tones of heaven can she linger