The Republican journal. [volume] (Belfast, Me.) 1829-current, 1874-04-02
VOLUME A.
Farm for Sale"

\ sweet home place, and turned to
look again An old farm cottage among
the trees, the hazy hush of Summer after
noon over all the golden sunlight drifting
through the leaves. resting in cleaning
patches on the grass and blossomine
clover tossing the shadows hither and
thither A sweet-voiced bird chirped in
the maple by the gate as we passed, and
the pale lips of locust blossoms peereh
forth from leafy nests. In the distance
springing grain waved in tiny pillows like
the peaceful flow of tiny seas, and the
dancing footsteps of little stream left 4
cleaning line across the green meadow
A beautiful home farm
''FARM FOR SALE"
Yes, these We're 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 the
Seed-timc and harvest? Has ambition
cast her apple Of discord in the midst of
yonr sweet content, whiSperings of riches
and honors and spendors Jared in upon
the heart music? Have visions of yellow
gold and the worlds proud shows shad-
owed with their delusi,e wings the simple
| iloI'tS- lut every -ttf nlIIiiitNN Which
| blesseS at the little farm?
Why sell the farm? Have dancing feet
that made the music strayed up into life
and one by one passed out al the little
gate, to come no more as Of Old? Has
even the baby-the last darling -twine1
the womanhood upon her brow, and taken
the blessing of her love and presence To
adorn and sanctitv another home, passing
Il,
another arm bearing the blessing. vet
leaving the old house 50 very deeolatr,
with only the haunting memory pacing up
and down through the lonely aislpS of the
| heart
Why sell the farm? All! Is there's grave.
has Death eut deep down through the bios
Soming sod, pioughing up grave so deep,
So chill. SO dark that from lis shadow Your
heart can be lifted never more? Has she
the dearest, most blesscd-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 ii passed on TO awaiting glory Is it
thy deSolation, oh 4, Death, that has COM
| PEELED the Farm for Sale
All, how many ''Farms for Sale, and
| with what longings will hearts that 90
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 ioyousness, wondering at the
strange happiness of the farm child Won
dcring that never more is SKY so blue
| never sunshine 50 gorgeous, never earth
50 full of music as before that Farm for
Sale" How will tired feet pause, mid the
dust Of lite's highways, aching to press
the whispering grass beneath the locusts,
and hands hard with counting gold, pine
to pull again the violcts down by the val
ley springs How will heads girdled by
thorns OF care, rest again in dreams on the
soft moss, swept so oft by child clTls in
the long ago, and hearts, mc0fy hearts,
and longing souls will pause in the great
world strife TO catch again the taroff'
laughter of those waters in the meadows
and the singing of the birdlmgs in the
naples. And how will eyes grow tear
dimmed in this tarseeng, as a vision
sweeps by, revealing above the little gate,
/ - l'plIl1 tl1' Sale =