The Tipton advertiser. [volume] (Tipton, Cedar Co., Iowa) 1856-1962, 1874-10-08

BY REV. JOHN rHEo. ErrEgs

| come, pilgrim wan ar d worn.
Back to the house where l was born
softly tread to-day!
MY heart bears, as a holy thing;
The many memories bring
From life's long weary way.
Familiar arc these stairs indeed,
Which to the second story lead
How natural to me!
Just as Of old do declare
The knot-hole in the wash board there
lis open still-just see.
Nine steps-l need not count them through
I'll lay you what You will, it's SO;
The short flight there has four.
This hand-rail on the entry side
What sport for boys adown to slide,
As We were wont of yore.
The window, at the head, is seen,
Venetian shutters, painted green,
And they are closed up still.
The ghostly light Of evening falls
So pale upon the stairs and walls,
feel a timid chill
Half smiling now, and now half sad
Half weeping now, and now half glad,
DO ascend the stairs.
reach the top-I touch the door
1t opens as II did Of yore-
did it unawares!
The dear old room how many a night,
From evening hour till morning light,
Here, child and boy, slept
There, in that corner, stood my bed
Here was the foot, and there the head
All this my memory kept.
How sweet our childhood sleep appears;
One rests not SO in after years
All! this too well know!
Life fills the anxious heart with cares:
A wakeful head the pillow bears,
And nights dull hours move slow.
The moon is up, it's full and bright
1t rours its mellow food of light
Upon the bed and floor;
y nov AhoNsS "Poh VII, vaAa "'oHs'
The shadowy play of trees without
I've seen that oft before.
All, all is stll-save but the wall
OF lonely crickets' evening tale,
Hid in the windowsill.
Hark! in the iosct-tick-tick-tick
II is the death watch's ghostly click
wish that worm were still!
II there be ghosts-ah, who can tell.
This place, this hour, would suit them well
Perhaps some may he near.
see naught with my eyes that's real;
Yet. in my spirits sense, feel
As if they might be here.
Yes, ghosts are here from childhood's hours,
They have no forms, but come as powers,
And give me pleasing pain;
They mirror to my heart the plays,
OF all my early halcyon days,
Which cannot come again.
Angels are here, SO pure and rare,
They play upon the moonbeame there,
They glide along the wall.
Back to this ark. like Noahs dove,
They bring their sprigs of peace and love
hail their friendly call.
These spirits guard us in our ways,
So mothers Holy Bible says
And believe it too,
Have we the "Our Father" said,
They watch that night around our he'd,
Most certainly they do
This did our mother often tell;
We children all believed it well,
And did as We were told.
You don't believe? your wis-r-youy
Than mother and the Bible too.
Such folly makes you bold.
For me this faith wrought like charm;
l slept quite free from fear or harm,
In peace till morning light.
l hold it still will believe,
That they who pray this prayer receive
An angel-guard at night.
I've often wished l were again
child, as innocent as then
But that can never be;
SO will keep, as best can,
The life of childhood in the man
The child-like nurse in me.
But, see, high up has gone the moon
How long I've wandered here alone,
'Tis time for me to leave.
Goodby, my little room, goodby-
Hold there is sonnet hing in my eve