The Abilene reflector. [volume] (Abilene, Kan.) 1883-1888, 1884-05-29
A SERVICE OF SONG.


Josephine Pollard in " Y Led1sr.
A SERVICE OF SONG.
The girls had gone to town. Grand.
ma sat IN the open sitting-room door,
sewing. Grandfather stood in the cool
shade at the long work bench at the
end of the kitchen, making new sin.
gle-tree for the light wagon. They
could not see each other [ doubt Il
they heard, or at any rate observed
each others voices. but l could plainly
see ana hear each one, and forgot my
book, listening TO them and trying to
guess their thoughts from their dis
POINTED, changing, abrupt fragments of
song. And the occasional llutter of the
leaves stirred by wandering breath of
wind. the shadows dimpling the second
growth OF red clover, the stravinp note
OF restless bird, the long, dusty road.
stretching far away past the woods to
the thigh prairie, the flash of a but
ter1y's wings-how it all harmonized
with the broken songs that fell almost
unconsciously at times from the old
lips. While ''the singers were over the
business of the house." and in all that
hour OF peace, while 1.-THE whole earth
Is at rest, and Is quiet, they break forth
into singing"
A flash of bright beautiful blue from
the willows and kingfisher, with his
lonesome cry, skinned pool in the
slough with a plash and sped away.
The old mans ewes followed the iIiUbt
OF the bird, and Their rested a moment
no NHrnra tfr-
away 10 the woods on the SchnebIy
farm, and the strong voice sang to old
3 EXhortation:"
Our life is a dream:
our time. rs stream,
GiidCS swiftly AWAY
anu the fugitive IN Dment refuses to STAY.
The arrow is flown;
Tho moment is gone
40. may we all remember well
The night of death avs near"
came from grandma's lips, and she
hadn't orened them before in half an
hour until the clock struck four. Her
voice died away, while l listened for
more, for her old HYMNS as she SANG
them were always known unto us las a
very lovely song of one that hath a
pleasant voice and can play well on an
instrument | heard the old clock
give its hectic cough, as if in illustra-
ton OF the hymn. Grandma YEARLY
turned the work in her hands, and the
measures of Brown swelled out in
Jerusalem my happy houe,
Name ever dear To me.
When shall my labOrs have an end"
A broken thread broke the sonp. and
when the busy needle resumed its
flight, the dear old singer had passed
to the closing ne of the next stanza:
And streets of shining gold
| knew how the busy brain and the
tired hands logged for rest, and | Won (
dered if she wasn't thinking of all the
years of WEAKNESS and toll, and of n
certain mortgage that with its black
wings OF threatening aud terror had been
lowering above the farm for wears like
a hawk. | didn't have a very clear
comprehension of mortgage. | am
afraid, but | knew that times had been
easier d money more plentiful since
1t had been lifted, and | was pretty
certain that streets paved with gold
would scare away the biggest blanket
mortgage that ever covered an improved
quarter.
The click of falling frame and the
'beseeching '-cheeps" of half a dozen
terrified chicks caught in my latest i'm
proved quail trap. set where no Quail
was ever known to come. Grandfather
stepped away from the bench to relieve
the unframed captives, for | never
moved, fearing demand for explana
ton, and in moment the plaintiye
strains OF quaint old "Hyacinth''
sang out:
II delivered thee when bound.
And when wounded, healed thy wound.
Sought thee wandering. set thee right
Turned thy darkness"
20. the transporting. rapturous scene
That rises 10 my sight;
sweet neIds arrayed in living green"
and at the sound of Grandma's voice 7
turned my face, and saw the wrinkled
hands dropped in her lap as she sat
looking out on the long pasture. over ,
the gre; rolling field where we sOwed
the first rOp of Hungarian. the frippinu ,
woods aid the wide meadows all CODED
in glorious sunshine how could she
sing anything else? Triumphant as the ,
psalm of the long rolling surf, the beau
5lful voice sang on for moment. and !
then the old hands picked up the work.
and the melody drIfted into the sad
sweetness of Naomi" and the voice 7
Of the singing went on:
w hen will my pilgrimage be DONE T
The worlI's long week be Ger"
Sure enough, 1 remembered. it was
only Wednesday and it seemed to the T
busy ones yet long time to the re stfaI- /
less of the farm sabbath. A MOVING Il
shadow at the work bench drew nv n
yes, and rs grand -ather drew the tane h
inc to find the middle of the hickory I
,iece he was shaping, he sang to Scot
ish "Avon,"
Teach me the measure of my days, Is
Thou maker of my frame, Il
would survey q
There was fault somewhere. and n
Hence indi ated it, for grandfather Il
ever sang in moments of perple ,ity.
lie would talk TO himself then as though
e was or Were, Is the case, or rather n
lumber may be, twins, but he never S,
ang. And with closed eyes l waited 81
no knew the measurement was per- I'll
at.ted when ha want m. IL