The Jackson standard. [volume] (Jackson C.H., Ohio) 1847-1888, 1876-01-20

10 ne droroCthe cincfnnaa Casetrc .

40 me Editor oftke Cincinnati Gazette:
THE enclosed lines were suggested by paint
ing, entitled Forgiven" which was exhibited
at the Exposition In your city, year ago also
the privilege OF seeing II. Thinking that they
might be ofsome interest to those OF your read.
beautiful picture, / send them for publication
IN your paper. Il.
The hour is drawing near, dear John,
The funeral tasks are done;
Come, let us take one long, last look
Upon our poor, dear one
Before she's laid at rest away,
think that st last can say,
"Thy VIII be done, oh God"
Our neighbors have been kind, dear John,
Lneres nothing Ien undonei
They never seemed for once to think
She was our erring one;
Nor feared 20 stain their own pure hands
Their faces only spoke flove
And pity all the while.
See here; there's roses ON her breast,
And lilies, white as snow;
She used TO wear them blossoms there,
In the sweet long ago;
And weave them IN her sunny hair,
With all girlish pride,
Ere Harry Wilde came up the lane,
I At summers eventide.
talmost breaks my heart to see
Poor, stricken Harry Wilde;
Since Mary left that summers day,
He's scarcely ever smiled;
I'm sure his heart viii break;
His mother says, "she fears he'll die"
And all for Mary's sake.
Twas in this room she came to us,
On such a morn as this,
The only drop we asked to fll
Our cup OF richest bliss,
And day BY day we watched her grow,
With pride, twere vain to tell
oh, John! dear John fear we sinned
In loving her too well.
What wonder, when she left our home
With him, who set the snare
With which to trap her guileless feet,
Twas more than we could bear?
We set such store by our good name,
That ne'er had earned a stain,
And she hadltaken IL away
How would IL come again?
What wonder from our auguished lips
As must have paled the saints OF heaven,
And brought smile to hell:
God was forgot In that dread hour,
We never thought Of heaven;
oh John, dear John, wonder now
We ever were forgiven.
But many a prayer we've breathed since then,
And many "A tear have shed,
And He, who sorrowlng walked with men,
Such pity on Us had,
That, standing here above the child,
Who brought us meath the rod,
feel that we at last can say
Our peace is made with God.
II he could only wake her up
Out of this strange, long sleep,
And tell her how we feel toward her,
Our sorrows were less deep.
Ali well, may be she knows It now,
Hear up among the shining hills,
Full many charmed tale.
/ think she's too forgiven, John,
For Gods 40 good and kind.
And he such tender pity hath
For all the weak and blind;
And He her wandering feet hath led
Out of the mire Of sin.
Up where the sad are comforted,
And all are pure and clean.
A peace so deep, NO infinite,
Lies on her poor, dead face,
OF all the sinful things she's done.
There's not a single trace;
The strongest, sweetest proof TO me,
That she repentant died,
And all her sins and sorrows laid
Upon the Crucined.
And they, who watched beside her, said,
They'd often see her weep,
And once they heard her softly say,
II lay me down to sleep"
Poor child ; her thoughts were wandering back
She always said that prayer, you know,
AT bedtime at my knee.
Oh joint our teachings were not vain;
Our God IN reconciled;
Well think OF her no more with pain,
But as our angel child
Safe from the tempter and his snares,
And all the evils OF sin :;
Oh, would that all earths erring ones
As safely were housed In.
Then, too, tits such a comfort, John,
That from our loved cot
Our child is carried out TO lie
Within our church-yard lot,
Beside her baby brother there,
Who died before he knew
The dark and sinful ways OF earth
And we shall sleep there, too.
III from that dark abode of sin
They'd borne her hence away,
Without our sympathizing tear,
Or pious souls 10 pray,
Or solemn service DER her said,
Or hymn with comfort rife,
i think 4 never should have cared
For anything in life.
Now draw the sheet above her face-
Our mournful task Is o'er;
hear the neighbors coming In,
The hearse IL at the door
Though you and must walk alone
Along lifes weary way,
Twill not be long, for you are old,
AND am turning gray.
Out of the darkness and the gloom,
In which we've CROPPED SO long,
Our blessed Lord will call us soon;
o let our faith be strong,
out of the night, In Heaven's light,
Dear John, how bles't twill be
To hnd each darken9d way made plain,
Which here we could not see
Out OF the darkness and the storms,
Tempted no more and tossed
And find, safe in the Shepherds arms,
Our lamb we'd mourned as lost.
DELAWARE, o., Dec. 1875.