Southern standard. (McMinnville, Tenn.) 1879-current, 1886-12-11
VOICES IN THE AIR.

float on the western horison like a
liquid sea of amethyst, in indescriba-
BILE forms and colors; dspirit voices
fill the air, and in imagination ! hear
them calling me from that far-off,
mystic shore. In mute ecstacy l lis
ten as their cadencos fall upon my
heart, and memory flies back along
the days and years that took their
fight, and echoes of the voices that
thrilled my heart so long ago, muir
muir, some indistinctly, Others low
ingly, as in thosedear old days when
life was one bright hope for all that
is good, true and ennobling. But only
the echoes reach me.
The years have come, freighted
with their burdens and responsible
ties, and they have passed away into
dim nothingness, "leaving their mark
upon each brow-their shadow in
each heart" and l hear again the
soft, low dirge-like wall of the pines
as used to hear them, leaning in the
window where / went to housekeep-
ing.
"They would sing to my thoughts
Just such sad strains as soothe sor-
row." and you all know the rainy
days come in each life, sometime.
Often my heart went out in unspeak-
able gratitude for the low, sweet mu-
sic-soft as eolian harps-of their
voices which carried the thoughts
far, far beyond life's prosaic duties.
Though / may never see that dear
old place again, it will ever be fresh
in memory, with its grand old pine
trees that were my companions for
hours. When your spirits are de-
pressed, your heart heavy, rebellious
and sick of life's burdens, 60 to the
forest, if in midsummer, and listen to
the leaves quivering in the breeze, or
the song birds perched amid their
branches; or in winter when the
earth is ice-bound, and incline your
ear to the sounds that greet it; wan
der out some day to the flowing river
side, and drink in the music of the
laughing water, sparkling in the
warmth Of the sunlight; pause a mo-
ment beside that sparkling fountain,
and watch the glistening spray gleam-
ing in discriminating light of heaven
listen to its dreamy tone, and let
your heart awake to the music and
bethrilled with joy unutterable; learn
Il lesson of the fountain, and let all
that emanates from your own heart
be pure and good. Who ever saw d
muddy fountain?
AT twilight, calm and still, walk
out and drink in the sublimity of ma
ture. All around, above, about you
are voiceS in the air; some the dear
little katydids, and other nocturnal
insects. The plaintive wall of the
whippoorwill blends with the Joyful
notes of the hooking bird, and the
very stars seem to speak to you O.
their fair home in the eternal blue,
Voices, voices!
Roam out in the wild woods wher
spring has clothed each flower in it
own beautiful hue, and scattered
them all along the paths and among
the brown leaves where we may
chance to wander; yes, scattered il
lovely hooks and hidden crags where
man dares not venture, and ther'
will come to you "wee sma' voice
from the blossoms you crush in you
footsteps, and whisper: Look up
weary pilgrim, "earth has no sorrow
that heaven cannot heal"
In the autumn time, when earth i
clothed in gorgeous splendor, goforth
and the very "winds that breath il
nournful cadences" will gently kis
your cheek and softly say: Peace
troubled soul, put all your sorrows OF
my wings and I will fly away t
Lethean shores.
Soft strains of music that wer
heard long years ago now fill the all
and voices of loved ones that ar
hushed on earth forever, are singin
old familiar songs.
O, the air is full of voices every
where, everywhere. They come t
us in the dark and silent night; the
arouse us in the early morning, an
even the dewdrops speak to us {
their far off home beyond the clouds
O, that l could listen TO the voice
in the grand old mountains! woul
love to steal away to the wildes
Wierdest nook, and listen to tn
mountain songs.
would learn the stories of the sc;
and ride DER oceans wide and water