Memphis daily appeal. [volume] (Memphis, Tenn.) 1847-1886, 1870-01-02
Written for the sunday Appeal.
NIGH BEFORE CHRISTMAS.

We welcome to the columns Of the Sun
DAY APPEAL one of its most cherished
contributors in the person of EsTELLE,
who may be assured that she has the higt
esteem and marked appreciation of its
readers and-EDIToRs:
We, pilgrims travel-ssained and worn,
Have reached again on fine highway
A weliknown landmark, and we ask,
What cheer amongst Us all, to-day?
We passed the same years, years agoue,
When life was young, and rosy day
Was sunshine to our GLAD young hearts,
And flowers were all along the way.
But are We still the same, and feel
This joyous season coming near,
With only one regret, and that
That q" Christmas comes but once a year9'
Oh, paIe-brow'd sister, toiling up
Around thee, mourning garments draped-
A cruel destiny, thy path
Along this march hath darlly shaped.
Fen now, tho shouts of gladness make
An echo from the sleeping years,
Backward thy lingering glance is cast,
And on thy care-worn cheek are tears.
Where is the eager, hopeful child,
That scarce, in glad surprise, could pause
To snatch her stocking, plump and round,
Wen fIIed with gifts from Santa Claus?
Where is the maiden, with her wealth
OF young affections, glad and free,
That proudly, trusting, Iaunch'd her bark
To brave with one LIES t~reacherous sea?
And where the wife, whose happy home,
Closed on the worlds too boisterous din,
Who felt that by her own Preside
With him the world was all teittia.
And oh! the mother, where is she,
Who on this eve was wont to glide
So deity long the gaping row,
Hung in such mystery side by side?
Where have those childish faces fed
Those empty corners once were theirs
And touching in its mute appeal
That quiet row Of vacant chairs?
There's d trembling on the far-oT names
That wash the by-gone's silent shore,
It brings but 70 the waiting heart,
In wauing murmurs, Nevermore."
The old man p1uses on his march,
Upon his brow : shadow lowers
He's busy with the tangled skein,
That darkly threaded LIES sad hours.
He's thinking Of the fearless boy,
Whose daring spirit naught could tame,
And wonder If that Bonded form
n feeble step are still the sameF
Meridian in the manhood's strength,
With eye und Imm'd and stout of heart,
This halfway bivouac on LIES march,
Finds him prepared again to start.
But OH how many weary ones,
Beneath the mantling now this night,
Would robe them in its friendly folds,
And gladly yield tn unequal fight?
But on the norn's returning ray
A mirage on the desert waste
This pageant viii dissolve, and bid
This startled traveller, onward, haste.
Then backward where the silent pail,
Is hanging DER the buried year,
A fond, regrerfuI look will cast,
And signing, drop an honest tear.
A tear TO cherished friends who fell
Along the rugged path we've trOd,
Those forms 81 loved to earth, bequeathed
The spirit 10 its maker, God!
A tear 10 hopes that brightly dawn'd
To crown the advent Of the year,
But lying faded, wither'd, dead
a mournul tribute on its bier.
But still with humble, grateful trust,
Born Of the triunphs of the Past,
VIII han each landmark gofRg dotln,
Till on the march re reach the Jasty
ESTEBEE.
Memphis, December Path.