The Indiana State sentinel. [volume] (Indianapolis) 1868-1895, 1881-01-12
"NOtherhood, a Poem.


Iwoman's Journall
| would call the attention of every thought
full mother, and indeed of every one who
has ever bowed in reverence before the deep
est mysteries of life, to this book. 1t comes
nearer than anything | have ever seen TO
putting into words class of emotions hith-
erto almost unexpressed in song; the emo
tions of a reverential and devout mother
before and after the bisth of her child.
Pictorial art has striven to portray these high
and pure feelings; perhaps there is hardly
a phase of thought in this book but might
find its answering expression in the work OF
some great medieval artist; but literature
has avoided these experiences, as too pro-
found and mysterious TO be rendered, so that
there are no poems which really correspond
to the eAnnunciations' and assumptions
of art. But in this little book woman,
rarely gifted by nature and training. attempts
to utter in words what Francia and Raphael
put on canvass.
The little volume opens with poem
called The Hope"-giving in its very first
verse the key note of the book.
Mysterious 10y pervsdes me- from my pillow
rise to look out on the starry night;
And dreams float in uPOu it, mystic billow.
Aud yearnings iofinite steal up the white
Star-rays on which climb ecstauc height.
Then follow The Prophecy" the Hail
Mary"a and a profoundly beautiful "Hymu OF
Motherhood" which opens thus
so beautiful new life within my bosom,
New life, loye-born, more beautiful than day,
tremb'e in thy presence. knowing
What holy miracle attends my way.
Ny heart is hushed, hear between its beating
The angel characterization say
Hail, blessed among women while pray.
so alternatives Love! thy finger touches
My leaping pulses 20 diviner heat,
What am /, that thy Thought OF life should blossom
In me, in me thy tide of life should beat2
Beat strong within me, God tide, in high passion
With quiekening spirit eaTth-bOrn essence greet
Fountain Of liiel flow through me pure and sweet.
40 au-sustaining Lovel Come close beside me
Ne 50 unworthy Of this wOndrons gift,
Purge me, refine me, try me as by fire,
8 Whiten me white snow in glacier-rift
That neither spot nor stain nor bIemish dzTken
These elements thst now 20 being drift;
Inspire, sustain me. all my soul upIift,n
Then come inheritance" "Faith," and a
d, 81 graceful and dainty poem called
q ro0hingp sang by the young mother that
is to be, as she works upon the pretty ward
robe for the baby unseen. Then there are
deeper shadows pof emotion in "Resig-
nation, :" culminating IN The Travail
poem of almost AIiltonic strength and Dig
nifty, portraying depths of emotion and ex-
periencewhieh many million women may
have gone through, but no woman ever ven
tured 10 express SO profoundly. 1t is a
poem. so pure, so-sublimsiy heroic, and so
infnieely touching that shrink even from
quoting It, and can only speak of it and
pass on. Then come lighter measures,
written in the Joy of triumphant mother
hood, and only touched here and there by
the shadows of grief and fear. With sim
plicity like that of William Blake's poems,
the young mother simply sings her over
flowing delight; and all the little daily
blisses of pare1tage-the nursery, the bath,
the cradle-are set.to music in quiet strains
go bright the sun looks in
And happy Is the din;
Gay clatter and uproar
Upon the nursery fioori
What truer ecstasy
Can life with all its pleasures offer me,
''Cbeery, yet peaceful too.
My nursery's pretty crew;
clap my hands and smile,
They laugh and crow the while;
toss my bonny girl
OR lift with throb Of pride each golden curl.
so precious days of blissi
Nothing so sweet this
Can Tighten mp the life
OF true aud happy wife,
/ think OF nauaht besides
There's nothing better though the worlds wide"
Then comes the slumber-song called
asleep
'we go our happy round
Papa and i,
Hush not vagrant sound
Must wander by;
In spell Of slumber bound
The babies lie.
The golden cuIl il tossed
From sculptured brow;
The parted lips have lost
Their prattle now
C.Osed eye-hds, soft palms crossed
Unconscious now.
And we, who trembling wait,
with tear-swept cheek
At childhOod's slumber- gate
In spirit meek,
urFather supplcate,
His strength bespeak."
NOTHING can be more free from cant than
is the religious sentiment in this littlevloume;
and whether the author chants the purest
joys Of life or hints with re.icent lips at its
most sanctifying sorrows, we may equally
thank her. She writes from heart to heart,
and not for fame; and many hearts will go
forth to meet an unknown friend, and TO
thank her.
Bless All the Girls
God bless the girls
Whose golden cHrls
Blend with our evening dreams
They haunt our lives
Like spirit wives;
They soOth pains;
They fill our brains
With dreams of SUMMER hours
God bless the girls,
God bless their curls:
God bless our human flowers.
Men and Women.
women have many faults: .
Men have only two;
There is nothing right they say
And nothing right they dOl
''But il naughty men do nothing right
Aud never say what's true,
What precious fools women are
To love them as we doln
A Reasonable Doubt.
fActa Columbia1