The Democratic press. [volume] (Ravenna, O. [Ohio]) 1868-1901, 1877-06-28

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ged her to sing Sing us one of tn,
old songs you used to sing for moth
er. grandma? Children, cant sing.
she always said and mother used tt
always lay her knitting softly down
and the kitten stopped playing will
the yarn on the floor, and the CLOCK
licked lower in the corner. and the
fire died down to a glow, like an old
heart that is neither chilled nor dead
and grandmother sang. To be sure il
would not do for the parlor and con
cert.room nova. days ;but then it was
the old kitchen, and the old-fashioned
grandmother,and the old bsllad,in the
dear old times, and we can hardly see
to write for the memory OF them
though il is hands breadth to the
sunset.
Well, she sang. Her voice was fee
Bile and waving, like a fountain just
ready to fail but then how sweet-tOn-
ed it was, and became deeper and
stronger ;but it could not grow sweet.
cr. What Joy of grief it was TO sit
there around the fire all OF us, except
ing Jane, and her we thought we saw
when the door was opened 4 moment
by the wind but then we were not
afraid for was not it her old smile she
wore? 10 sit. there around the fire,
and weep over the woes of the babes
in the woods, who laid down side by
side in the great solemn shadows and
how strangely glad we felt when the
robin red breast covered them with
leaves, and, last OF all when the angel
took them out of night into day eyer
lasting.
We may think what we will of it
now, but the song and the story heard
around the kitchen fire have coiored
the thoughts and the liyes OF most OF
us, have given the germs OF whatever
poetry bicsscs our hearts, whatever cf
memory blooms in our yesterdays.
Attribute whatever we may to the
school and the schoo!mas,er, the rays
which make that little day we cal! life,
radiate from the God-swept circle of
the hearthstone.
Then she sings an old lullaby, the
song of her mother-her mother sang
it to her but she does not sing 1t
through, and falters ere it is done.
She rests her head upon her hands, land
is silent in the old kitchen. Some
thing glitters down between her fin
gers in the freight, and it looks like
rain in the soft sunshine. The old
grandmother is thinking when she
first heard the song, and the voices
that sang il, when. Il ight-haired and
light-hearted girl, she hung around
that mothers chair, nor saw the shad-
ows of the years TO come. Oh, the
days that are no mOrci What words
unsay, what deeds undo, to set back
just this once the ancient clock of
time!
So our little hands were forever
clinging to her garme@ts, and staying
her as ii from dying, for long ago she
had done living tor herself, and lived
alone in us. But the old kitcken wants
a presence to-day; and the rush-bot-
toned chair is tenantless.
How she used to welcome us when
we were grown, and came back once
more tn the hOmesteadl
We thought We were men and wo-
men, but we were children there the
old fashioned grandmother was blind
in her eyes, but she saw with her
heart, as she always did. We threw
out long shadows through the open
door, and she felt them as they fell
oyer her form, and she looked dimly
up and she said:
Edward l know, and Lucy's voice
can hear. but whose is that other? 1t
must be James, for she had almost
the folded hands. 'Oh, no!
not James, for she-lct me see-she is
for me, isn't she?' and the old
grandmother wandered and wept.
1T is another daughter, grandmoth-
.r, that Edward has brought says
some one, 'fOr your blessing
'Ias she blue eyes, my son? Put
ler hands in mine, for she is any late
born, the child of my age. Shall
sing you u song, children p and she is
Il 1lu tnnnt tNIin,r Ts,r n.
gift for the children that have come
again.
One of us men, as we thought we
we're, is wee i'ing she hears the half
soEs, and says, ais size eX-
ends her feeble hand:
'lIerc, nay poor child, rest upon
,our grandmother shoulder ;she vii!
protect you from all harm. Come, INV
children, sit around the fire again.
Shall l sing you song or tell you a
story! Stir the fire, Tor it is cold the
lights are growing colder
The clock i'll the corner struck nine,
he bedtime Of those Old days. The
'ong OF life was indeed sung, The story
old. 1t was bed u-time at last. Good
hight to thee, grandmother. The old
fashioned grandmother was no. more,
md we miss her forever. But we
will set up tablet in tie midst OF the
1eart, and write on it only This:
SACRED TO THE MEMORY
or tie
iCOD OLD FASHIONED GRANDMOTHER.
Cod bless her .forecer!
THEOLOGY IN THE DUD.-l renewed
nv acqnaiMtance with a three wear Old