The Fremont weekly journal. [volume] (Fremont, Sandusky County, Ohio) 1867-1877, 1867-03-08

times about me. 1t is not long since
my voice was strong and firm. 1t is SO
now; but in this strange humor-this
Iindomitable willfulness of the heart
have no power over it. l can but sit,
speechless, and look up with trem-
bling hope to the kind Heaven which
lis over all. it
Twas sitting, tonight leaning back
in my chair, while 7. Fat by the hearth,
gazing silently upon the dying embers,
when my father came in, and without
speaking to us, began walking slowly
across the room. Presently, he began
an old anthem, in low tone, his voice
"a very unusual thing-trembling,
and at times almost failing him, while
he walked slowly back and forth. The
words, as well as l remember them,
were Farewell, farewell, my friends, and
God grant that we may meet again,
where trouble shall cease and harmon y
abound" As he finished singing, he
turned to me and asked what old piece
it was. Strange" he said, "that ]
should think Of it now. 1 do not re-
member of singing it in more than forty
years. 1t must be one Of the oldpieces
we used to sing on Litchfeld Hill;"
and again he repeated it, slowly, and as
if searching carefully for the old tones
so long burried-"Farewell, farewell, my
friends" 4..-.
He retired soon after, but presently
returned, with black leather-covered
book (Song of the temple, 1sIe,) took
seat by the table, by the side Of my
wife, and opening the book carefully,
turned to an old tune not at all familiar
to me, but of soft and plaintive strain.
1t was very simple in tone, but exceed
ingly difficult in its construction. Ny
father sang it through once by himself,
and then asked us to sing it with him.
l was in that foolish condition l have
mentioned-ny eyes troubled with
tears-and could make no reply. I was,
in fact, pretending to sleep. My father
looked at me moment, over his glas-
ses, but said no more, and began sing
ing again-my wife joining with him.
These are the words: @ fi-
'Tis finished, so the Savior cried, a
And meekly bowed his head and died:
'Tis finished-yes, the race is run, 1-
The neutrality-suspicious. victory won.
. They sang it again and again, with
the same words Ny wife has sweet
voice, aud they both sang in low and
subdued tones; my fatherusing but lit
tile of his usual gesticulation, only rais-
ing and lowering his hands slowly, as in
prayer. Once, at the close of the verse,
he looked at T. with a smile, and re-
marked, gently, that she did not quite
touch certain note. "But," said he,
in the same low tone, ''it is very intri-
cate" Again and again, they repeated
it, and the words still throb at my
heart: e.s.r.1,,1 se a.'f "a
The battle fought--tbe victory wopl
AT length my father rose, bowed,
without speaking, and retired. T. came
and set by me, silently, for a few mo-
ments, and went up to her rest. at
And now the midnight has come,
my friend, and Sunday night is over, l
must 60 now. But l shall still see
that picture of youth and age bending
over the old book-the calm and pray
erful face of T. and the grave but rapt
look Of my father-I shall still hear, in
the morning watch, those sweet, sad
tones, and those glorious words: ,s,a.
'Tis inished-yes, the race is run. iova
The battles fought--the victory won.
.-i I'm Go1z1kru Isfters- &