The Colfax chronicle. [volume] (Colfax, Grant Parish, La.) 1877-1981, 1884-07-26

line to find the middle of the hickory
piece he was shaping. he sang to Scot
fish "Avon,v
"Teach me the measure of my days.
Thou maker of my frame,
Iw0uld survey
There was a fault somewhere, and
silence indicated it, for grandfather
never sang in moments of perplexity.
He would talk to himself then as though
he was or were, as the case, or rather
number may be, twins, but he never
sang. And with closed eyes 1 waited
and knew the measurement was per-
fected when he went on:
! "a span is all that we can boast,
1 An inch or two of time;
Man is but vanity and dust"
A search for the drawing knife
stopped his song, and as cloud drifted
over the sun and soothed all the land
with shadow, grandma sang in the
plaintiye strains of "China":
''well might the sun in darkness hide.
And shut his glories in,
When Christ the mighty Maker. died
For man, the creatures SIM"
While like a triumphant echo from
the work bench end of the choir came
ringing the glorious strains of "St.
Martins" thrilling and inspiring as
blast of trumpets, cheering as a 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 tempests 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 a moment the whirling
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 iron
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, and
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 no 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 tho
pasture, across at the long ranks of
corn, at the golden field of oats, wait
ing impatiently for the reapers and
sang:
ION Jordan's stormy banks stand.
And cast a wistful eye
To Canaan's fair and happy land,
Where my possessions lie."
While like benediction came chanting
into his song the mourning dove and
grandma's ''Zion,"
HAS thy night been long and mournful?
Have thy friends unfaifhful proved?
Have Rw IN, thy foe. foes been bee proud and scornful.
Cease thy mourning;
Zion still is well beloved"
DoxoLoGY.
A rattle of wheels down the carriage
drive, chorus of pleasant voices and |
ripping laughter, cataract of talk, of |
band box and package and sample and |
price list, and news of the friends in |
Peoria; who is dead and who is mar
ried, who they saw and what he said
the girls have returned from town. the |
service OF song is over and his last
hymn mingling with the joyous laugh
ter and merry chatter of his girls. as he
drove the horses over to the barn. i
heard grandfather softly singing to
sOrtonville:"
why should the children of king
10 mOuruiuU n THAR 10 vsys
Rob-. y. Burdette, in BROOKLYN EaoSe.
Arthur Tells a Story.
There was an unusual number of
visitors to pay respects at the White
House yesterday. I happened to see