The new dominion. [volume] (Morgantown, W. Va.) 1876-1904, 1884-05-31

Like Friendship
The staunchest, and the best,
-Josephine Pollard, in ". Y. Ledger
A SERVICE OF SONG.
The girls had gone to town. Grand
ma sat in the open sitting-r room door
sewing. Grandfather stood in the COO
shade at the long work bench at thu
end OF the kitchen, making a new sin
gle-tree for the light wagon. They
could not see each other. I doubt Il
they heard, or at any rate observed
each others voices. but could plainly
see and hear each one, and forgot my
book, listening to them and trying tc
guess their thoughts from their dis.
lolnted, changing, abrupt fragments OF
song. And the occasional flutter of the
leaves stirred by wandering breath OF
wind, the shadows dimpling the second
growth of red clover, the straying note
OF restless bird, the long, dusty road,
stretching far away past the woods to
the thigh PRAIRIE, the flash of but
terfiy's wings-how it all harmonized
with the broken songs that fell almost
unconsciously at times from the old
lips while 1.-THE singers were over the
business of the house," and in all that
hour OF peace, while '.the whole earth
IS at rest, and is quiet, they break forth
into singing"
A flash of bright beautiful blue from
the willows and kinglisher, with his
lonesome cry, skinned a pool in the
slough with a plash and sped away.
The old mans eyes followed the fight
of the bird, and Their rested a moment
on the wandering stream, lettering
away to the woods on the Schnehly
farm, and the strong voice sang to old
Elaboration"
"Our life is dream:
Our time. as stream,
Glides swiftly away
AND the fugitive moment refuses to stay:
The arrow is flown;
me moment is gone"
20, may we all remember well
The night of death draws near"
came from grandma's lips, and she
hadn't opened them before in half an
hour until the clock struck four. Her
voice died away, while / listened for
more, for her old hymns as she sang
them were always known unto us '.as
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, rs 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 home
Name ever dear TO me;
when shall my iabors have an end"
A broken thread broke the song, and
ho
fight, the dear old singer had passed
to the closing line of the next staDza:
"And streets of shining gold"
l knew how the busy brain and the
tired hands longed for rest, and won
dered if she wasn't thinking of all the
years of WEAKNESS and toll, and of
certain mortgage that with its black
wings OF threatening and terror had been
lowering above the farm for years like
hawk. | didn't have very clear
comprehension of a mortgage, | am
afraid, but | knew that times had been
easier and money more plentiful since
it had been lifted. and l was pretty
certain that streets paved with gold
would scare away the biggest blanket
mortgage that evercovereda an improved
quarter.
The click of a falling frame and the
beseeching '.cheeps" of half 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 l never
moved, fearing demand for explana-
ton, and in moment the paintive
minor 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"
90 the transporting rapturous scene
That rises to my sight;
Sweet fields arrayed in living green"
and ut the sound of Grandma's voice |
turned my face, and saw the wrinkled
hands dropped in her lap as she sat
looking out on the long pasture, over
the great rolling field where we sowed
the first crop of Hungarian, the fringino
woods and the wide meadows all flooded
in glorious sunshine how could she
sing anything else? Triumphant as the
psalm Of the long rolling surf, the beau
tiful 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
of the singing went on:
when viii my pilgrimage be done,
The worlds long week be Ger"
Sure enough, remembered, ii was
only Wednesday aud it seemed to the
busy ones yet long time to the restful-
ness OF the farm Sabbath. A moving
shallow at the work bench drew my
eyes, and a. grandfather drew the tape
line - find the middle of the hickory
piece he was shaping, he sang TO Scot
Hsh .sAvon,