The workingman's advocate. [volume] (Chicago [Ill.]) 1864-1877, 1868-02-22

nance came that mysterious shadow sns'
falls bat onoe on any mortal face. |,
"Ohl my poor boy,s she whispered tell
him''-they bent lower to catch her falling
words -sstell him | will put light In ths
windag Of heaven, TO guide bis foo'ssep'
there.D
The thraling sentence was hardly spoken
when the shadow dropped from the suffer-
er's face, and ID smiled In the calm majesty
Of death.
A funeral followed; humble hearts attend
cd the body of one who was loved for ne,
sincere goodness all through the hamlet; and
on the hillside, in q little graveyard, shs
was buried.
Not many days amer great ship came In
10 the port of busy city. Among Oil tnose
who stepped from the decks, ncns we're mofe
hopeful, more joyous, than young Henry
Henry had passed through the ordeal ol
life at SEA SO far unscathed. No blight Of i'm
mornlity bad fallen upon him. He bad kspl
as spotless as If at every nightfaii his fees
had been turned towards the door OF ne
mothers cottage. How his heart bounded
a. lie rtiouxdr of her. Strangely enough,
he never aI.-.aecs she might be dead.
did not occur 10 b Inn thai perhaps her silver
locks were living ur.der the lid Of the comm
Oh no: he only thought Of the pleasant
light Of the window, THAT har hands had
trimmed for him. : be journed % bis M
tive town.
Yonder comes one who trudges on Leg
ginelv-a farmer in heavy boots and frock,
his whip in his hand. He cheers his lazy
oxen, but suddenly stops amazed.
IL see you know me-" said the young
sailor, smiling. "Well, Farmer Brown, how
ia --T
"Know yout why, how tall you have
grown So" his eyes drop, his mouth
trembles-"so you have got home 7"
eyes, and glad to get back agaia. How
is mother2''
"Your mother" he says, in low, heslta-
ting way, that telsgraphs i'll tidings before
they are told in words.
Eyes, yes, is she welf Is she expecting
mei OF course she is; we're late By month,
full"
"Your mother, Henry. Well, the old Ia
dy''-he plays with his whip, or rather
strikes 1t hard on the dusty road. How can
be crush that happy hearty
'There, you need not speak" cried the
young man, in a voice Of sudden anguish.
and he recoiled, almost staggering nom the
farmers side, and buried his face in his
hands.
"Hsnry, my poor lad, your mother rs, in
deed, -"
s.Don't, don'tr' crisd the other, showing
now face from which all color had fed.
sob, my mother my dearest mother She
is gone-gone-snd ar coming home, 50
happy 70
For some moments he sobbed in agony.
How dreary the world had groTn. The
very flowers had lost their fragrance, and
the sun It's warmth; his heart seemed u
be dead.
"Henry, she lef. message for you" said
the old farmer, ~iping his eyes with the
sleeve of his frock.
"a message for mes' II seemed as II the
white lips could hsrdly speak. :.
eyes, Gays he--so my dame told me, and
20 the minister said--"Tell Henry viii pat
light ia the window Of Heaven, 70 gu.de
bis footsteps there"
cDid she-loh, did she say thats-God blsss
you for telling me All my long voyage
thought az. the light inE the lif1le wihdeH,
have seemed to see II streaming &long,
along down to the foot Of tia hill tilI 1t grew
tighter and brighter as drew nearer. A
light in the window Of heavenS Yes, moth
er, will think you are still waiting for me.
could not see you in these long years, but
knew the light was bur ing. cannot
see you now, but know that the light was
burning"
Slowly and reverently be went TO the hill
side graveyard, and there he knelt and wept
bitterly upon the losiv grave. But not
there he sought her. A sweet vision was
vouehsafed him. All roDed n heavenly
,srrsetnse he the beautiful soul he called
mother, and streaming from the 6rignshess
II h,,r glorious home, slender beam seemed
% come trembling to his very leet. Then
,e knew that the light was placed in the
window Of heaven.
Once more be knelt ia the little room I
here be had left her Nothing wss moved /; |
bat oh how much was waiting! There on
he window still stood the little lamp-that !
bro ught the tears afresh. But he took his
well-worn Bible, and kneeling BY |
1sr bedside, NJ if she could hear him. he /
himself TO life and work of
righteousness.
From that cottage he went into the world, |
carrying his grief as q sacred memorial, but
seeing always. wherever his worF led him,
his waiting mother. and the lamp in the
window Of heaven.