The Grange advance., 1874-03-04
" Farm for Sale!"
BY SCOTT CAMPBELL.

A sweet home place, and I turned to
look again. An old farm cottage among
the trees, the hazy hush Of summer af-
ternoon over all the golden sunlight
drifting through the leaves, resting IN
cleaning patches on the grass and BIOS
soming clover, tossing the shadows hith-
er and thither. A sweet voiced bird
chirped in the maple by the gate as we
passed, and the pale lips of locust bios
SONS peered forth from ]eafy nests. In
the distance springing grain waved in
tiny pillows like the peaceful flow of
summer seas, and the dancing footsteps
Of little stream left cleaning line
across the low green meadow. A beau
titul home farm
"FARM FOR SALE"
Yes, there were the words in rough
chalk letters above the gate, Farm for
SALE" Why sell the farm? Have
hands grown tired of plough and sickle
and hoe, hearts wearied with oft-return-
ing seed time and harvest. Has ambi-
tion cast her apple of discord in the
midst Of your sweet content, whisperings
Of riches and honors and splendors
Jared in upon the heart-music ? Have
visions Of yellow gold and the worlds
proud show shadowed with their delu-
sive wings the simple hopes, the every
day happiness which blesses at the little
farm?
Why sell the farm? Have dancing
feet that made the music strayed up in
to life, and one by one passed out at the
little gate, to come again no more as of
old? Has even the baby-the last dar-
ling-twined the womanhood upon her
brow, and taken the blessing Of her
love and presence to adorn and sanctify
another home, passing like the rest up
the path leaning on another arm, bear
ing the blessing, yet leaving the old
house so very desolate, with only the
haunting memory pacing up and down
through the lonely aisles Of the heart?
Why sell the farm p? All! Is there a
grave, has death cut deep down through
the blossoming sod, pioughing up
grave so deep, so chill, SO dark, that
from its shadow your heart can be lifted
never more? Has sbe-the dearest,
most blessed-.even the home mother
lain down to rest? Has the light gone
out from those gentle eyes-the light of
that soul, the embodiment Of love and
peace, and faith and patience has it
passed on to the awaiting glory ? Is it
thy desolation, oh! Death, that has
compelled the " Farm for Sale ~
All! how many . Farms for Sale,' -
and with what longings will hearts that
20 out from these farm homes crowned
with joy, turn back from the summit OF
many years to look upon the dead face
Of that old-time joyousness, wondering
at the strange happiness OF the farm.
child; wondering that never more is
SKY so blue, never sunshine so gorgeous,
never earth so full OF music as before
that Farm for Sale" How will tired
feet pause mid the dust of life's high
ways, aching to press the whispering
grass beneath the locusts, and hands
hard with counting gold pine to pull
again the violets down by the valley
spring! How will heads girdled BY
thorns Of care, rest again in dreams on
the soft moss, swept so OFT by child
curls in the long ago, and hearts, ,oear,
hearts, and longing souls will pause in
the great world strife to catch again the
far-of laughter Of those waters in the
meadow, and the singing Of the bird
lings in the naples And how will eyes
grow tear-dimmed in this far.seeing, al
vision sweeps by, revealing above the
little gate, Farm for sale d"