The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1886-07-28
-" More than Tongue Can Tell"

a little BOY STOOD by MS mOtner'S Slde.
His face was alight with childish glee,
and in the dark blue eyes shone love-
light intense and strong. Yes, he was
mothers pride and Joy, and when she
clasped the little fellow to her heart
with passionate tenderness, she said:
And does Robbie love mamma?"
Oh yes" lisped the child. How
much?" Robbie loves mamma more
than tongue can tell"
Years later. The child is youth--a
youth in years, yet still child in heart.
The dark eyes are full of kindness, the
lips ever ready with sympathetic, loving
words. The narrow lane is beautiful
on a summers night. The moon shines
softly down, the stars twinkle merrily;
all nature is full of peaceful calm. The
child of years before walks down the
narrow glen. A happy maiden, sweet
and good, walks coyly at his side. IT'S
the same old, old story, whispered
rather than spoken, I" l love you"
Never doubling the truthful lover at her
side, the maiden archly asks, And
how much do you love me, Robin?"
And the answer is as of yore: " More
than tongue can tell"
A man sits at table writing busily.
Through the open door can be seen a
motherly, happy woman, busily prepar-
ing an evening meal. Little children
play upon the floor, laugh and smile,
and glance now and then at the lovely
scenes without. The glorious sun is
| civ in hn nd 70 Of
times play across the little sitting-room
floor. The young girl, tired of playing,
softly pulls her fathers arm. Heis busy
very, very busy-yet he lays down
the pen, clasps the golden treasure in his
arms and tells pretty fairy stories until
supper-time. "And does you love me
papa?" asks the child, as they sill
around the table. " Duz 90 love me
too?" chimes in very wee voice
eyes," answers the father, as he glance;
at the baby and the girl. " How muchf
A pailfulf" asks the little girl. "'Ow
much? Pailful?" echoes the wee voice
Mamma says nothing. She knows what
the answer will be. For years his an.
swer has always been: "More than
tongue can tell"
The fireside at night. Children and
children's children play upon the floor,
or gather around the home circle and in
merry voices talk the busy worlds
topics over An old, old man and
woman occupy prominent place neal
the hearth. Their hair is gray, wrinkled
and furrowed are their brows, yet the
bygone years have not robbed them Of
the love-light of the eye. Dim are they,
perhaps, but they shine with fervent
love. When the once young girl speak:
to the once 1.-THE and strong youth, anC
asks: I" Do you love me now, Roberto
he replies: My dearest wife, more
than tongue can tell"
Night! A window half opened, through
which blow the gentle zephyrs, kissing
cold and whitened brow. Long strips
of black hang from the iron knocker
quiet is through all the stricken house
On tiptoe walk the people, who ar,
usually blithe and gay; they know the
reaper, Death, has passed "a by that day
On the face of the dead is smile; il
the clasped hand the little well-worr
Bible. Tears are in the eyes of an old
old woman who stands gazing at tn,
dead. Perhaps she hears feeble voice
for but few moments before she hat
again repeated the story of Jesus love
and when she had asked the dying mai
if he loved his kind and gracious Savior
maybe it was but her fancy, maybe 'twa
but the wind, yet she heard lovini
voice say: Aye, dear Savior, more
than tongue can tell. "-Selected.