The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1884-05-31

fish ''Avon,"
| "Teach me the measure of my days,
Thou maker of my frame,
| | would survey"
There was fault somewhere, and
silence indicated it, for grandfather
never sang in moments of perpleXity.
He would talk tohimself then as though
he was or were, as the case, or rather
number may be, twins, but he never
sang. And with closed eyes l waited
and knew the measurement was per-
fected when he went on:
"a span is all that we can boast,
| An inch or two of time;
| Man is but vanity and dust
A search for the drawing knife
stopped his song. and as a cloud drifted
over the sun and soothed all the land
with shadow, grandma sang in the
plairtive strains of China:
| swell might the sun in darkness hide.
| And shut his glories in,
When Christ the mighty Maker, died
| For man, the creatures GIN"
While like triumphant echo from
the work bench end of the choir came
ringing the glorious strains of EST.
Martins" thrilling and inspiring as a
blast of trumpets, cheering as bugle
call, grand in its tone of mistaken con-
| fidence:
| "Beneath the shadow of Thy throne,
Thy saints have dwelt secure;
| Sufficient is Thine arm alone,
| And our defense is sure"
But the cloud drifted away and the
sunburst of light blazed over the earth
again, and in stately measure "Dun-
dee" swelled in its half note step from
the bench:
"a faith that shines more bright and clear
| When tcmpests rage without:
That when in danger knows no fear,
| In darkness feels no doubt"
1t may have been the majestic old
tune, or it may have been, [ rather
think it was, the cooling wood dove,
mourning in the tall old elm down by
the horse well, that made grandma sing;
Return, oh, holy dove, return,
Sweet messenger of rest;
hate the sins that made thee mourn"
Rock, rock, rock, the. old straight
back rocker finished the verse without
words, and in moment the whirline
flight of my pigeons sweeping from the
barn roof over to the cool woods changed
grandma's song to joyous "Amster
DAM"
Rise, my soul, and stretch thy wings,
Thy better portion trace;
Rise from transitory things,
Toward Heaven thy native place.
sun, and moon, and stars decay,
Time shall soon this earth remove,
Rise, my soul, and haste away"
But grandpa, with lusty arm and
changing hammer, beating on the iror
rings that bound the ends of the single
tree, sang aloud, with terrible voice,
that direful old revival hymn that used
to melt with sudden fear the trembling
souls of impenitent youth:
"Say, have you an arm like God,
That you His will oppose?
Fear you not that iron rod
With which He breaks His foes?'
And like soothing balm to his
avenging chant that seemed to echo the
dread thunders of Sinai, came the
mourning notes of the wood dove, anG
dear old grandma's sweet "Aletta"
weeping soul. no longer mourn,
Jesus all thy griefs hath borne;
View Him bleeding on the tree,
Pouring out His life for thee;
There thy every sin He bore,
Weeping soul, lament more"
| A distant strain of song from the men
in the field with Uncle John caught the
old mans ear, and he Strengthened him.
self moment, to rest or to listen. He
| looked at the reapers. then down at the
mulberry trees by the spring in the
pasture, across at the long ranks OF
corn, at the golden field of oats, wait.
ing impatiently for the reapers and
sang:
'On Jordans stormy banks stand,
And cast a WiStful eve
To Canaan's fair ana hanpv land.