The Wilmingtonian., 1888-07-07
Reverie.
written for the wrLMrNaToNIAN J

As / sit by the window at twilight
And look on the bright vault above,
think of the wonderful Glory
ofGod, and His Infinite love.
think how the dear kind Creator,
Who hath shaped all those numberless Spheres
Hath had His dear arms about ne
And hath kept me through all my past years.
Ringing out on the stiffness of evening,
Come the voices of little ones deari
That God, in His kindness hath given,
To tighten my pathway OF care
Then my thoughts run hurriedly backward,
Der the past through which have Gomez
Nor pause they till again am sporting
A child, in my childhoods home.
With my Sisters, and Brothers around me,
AS children, again we're at play,
Running through orchard, and meadow,
And over mounds of sweet hay.
We climb up the trees to the birds nests,
Pull branches of locust buds sweet,
Only to thow away thoughtless,
And trample them under our feet.
Now off with yell. to the cornileld
The larger one springs with bound,
Crying, .'rm Fox" "l'm Fox, boys
You little ones act as the hound.
Then ring out our voices in chorus,
And over the clods, briars and cornstalks,
We tumble, and run where he leads.
The COW which stands quietly munching,
In the shade of tree, her sweet cud,
Now claims undivided attention.
As on her. we spring with a thud.
Her tail, in both hands firmly grasping,
We are dragged over hollow and hill,
AS bellowing snorting and foaming,
She plunges on with good will.
The hen from the nest isnow driven,
To see if the egg has been laid;
And the Ducks and the Geese by their clatter
Acknowledge respect to them paid.
The half grown pullet is captured,
Her head tucked under her wing,
And swung through the air back and forward
TIL sweet sleep to her eye lids we bring.
All manner of boyish mischief,
That only boy could devise
is indulged in, and nothing escapes us
Unless 1t be hid from our eyes
Our voices resound to the forest
Over meadow, and orchard, and rili;
And they seem to increase like the snow ball
As rolls; nor cease they until
we come with hushed voice to "God's Acre."
Where lieth the dust of the dead,
And with the white marble around us,
We bare to the soft breeze our heads.
We pass all the graves by unnoticed,
Till we come to a holier ground,
Where the marble, tells standing above it,
That "Mary" lies under thelmound.
And we repeat TO each other the story,
BY mother so oft before told,
of the sii ter, long ago buried,
In this sgrave, dark, lonely and cod
How the innocent little creature,
One morning had crawled out OF her cot,
Ere the stars were out of the heavens,
And moved to the fatal spot
Where the flames had caught her garments,
And enveloped her innocent form,
How her sufferings, were borne Without murmur
Till God took the dear lamb to His arms
And we brush the tears from our eye lids,
And gentle move from the place,
Made holier by the pure ashes
ofone who had ne'r seen our face.
Again the voices of children,
Float over and fall on my ears;
Aud ask are these the same voices,
Come back from the far distant years
Then my memory answers in sorrow,
Those voices have long ago ceased
For Gods Reaper th- children have gathered
10 His garner Of Joy and of Peace.
And now close by the little green hillock
Where we stood, round the white marble stone
Stand five other Tablets of granite
That tell OF the pure spirits flown;
They tell how the dear loving Saviour
tWhile their bodies sleep under the sod)
Hath taken the dear Lambs Home; saying
''Of such is the Kingdom of God"
Those innocent days of my childhood
SO free from care, and from pain;
How oft, have wishedi in my manhood,
l could live them over again.
And pray that when the Pale Reaper
Shall gather me under the sod,
may play again, with the children
At Home, in the City Of God.
A. G. S.