The Austin weekly statesman. (Austin, Tex.) 1883-1898, 1883-12-27
Home for the Holidays.


When rapt ghost sits from ghost apart,
HoIn-ward we go to Heavens thanksgiving,
The harvest-gathering of the heart
Did we have happy Christmas :?
No, we did not. l suppose it was all
wrong-we, the children of king,
journeyIng here for day-but We
spent every hour of that pleasant fes-
tivaI time in bitter sorrow and repin-
ing; We, who had been so happy, and
expected that ON our heads, at least,
would never be placed "sorro VS.
crown of sorrow" that the dark angel
AZrael would never darken our happy
home.
He had written to us-our darling
that he would be home for the hOli-
days, written in little ill-spelled let
ter which his dear, boyish hand had
hurriedly traced. and even while we
were reading this mother and /
and laughing over it, and saw at the
same time something like tear gilt
ter on its soiIed and crumpled page,
there was a step at the door, and the
well-kEOwn whistle-he was always
whistling-and then he was in our
arms-the same bonnie, blue-eyed boy
with that high. fearless look; the same
mischevious dimple in his chin; the
same loving smile that seemed the
most precious love-light in the world
to us, that will never die or be lost in
this weary lifel
Home for thei holidays 1t was his
first year at school, and he had pleaa-
ed so for this homecoming, that, we
could not refuse, and all our plans
had included him-for what would a
Christmas dinner have been without
our boy ?-and we had his sled, "The
Mayflower," out, for there was furry
OF snow, and we tried hot to let him
see howfond and foolish we were about
him, or how we followed the sound
OF that whistling voice thorough the
house and wondered if there ever was
such another dear boy, and planned
out just what sort of a man he would
be
That was one week before Christ
mas All in a moment hand cold as
ice was i'd on our hearts-the snow
that had fallen in its chilliness brought
death with it. for it fell into our sum-
mer garien and covered the one
tender Hover blooming there.
81 think" said the Gardener, cIasping
The plant with gentle hand,
"ThiS flower is much too tender
1 can tell you nothing about it ex-
cept the vague sense of nights that
were us days, and of days that were as
nights; of sad, solacing words from
people who meant well, but who weIe e
all unconscious of widening wound.
Was it Longfellow who said: Before
great grief we are dumb?" There
was bind cropping of the little arms
IA fond, feveriSh caress, and the last
whispered words:
"Pap-a, ma NINA, am going
home for tn holidays" and then:
"His ord looked down on the flower
And His heart W. mt out TO its need.
"Tis just the plant for my garden,
plant of CELESTIAL seed
And into the gates that were golden.
And DER the fddeless plain,
And close by The wonderful river Of life
He planted the flower again"
know we were not alone in our
sorrow; that the first snow fell on
other little graves that cover precious
dust; that at other tables there are va
cant chairs; that ever since the KING
of Israel cried in his bitter anguish:
"Oh, Absalom, my sonl my son!
Would God l had died for thee;'
hearts have been broken and homes
desolated, as ours is in these sad holi-
days.
"And, yet, dear heartl remembering thee,
| Am not richer than Of old?
| Safe IN thy immortality, -
| hat change can reach the wealth hold
Whar chance can mar the peace and gold
Thy love hath left in trust with me?
! ''I can not feel that thou art far,
Since near at needs the angels are,
And when the sunset gates unbar,
Shall not see thee waiting stand,
And white against the evening star
The welcome of thy beckoning hand?"