The Forest Republican. [volume] (Tionesta, Pa.) 1869-1952, 1889-11-20
THE sHoP-oIRL's SUNDAY RRsT.


cessity. TBtE--Near midnight Enter q girl
poorly clad, wan, and Staggering with
fatigue.
At last Pm home, and oh so tired. tired,
tired TO very death
It's work, work, work, till one has neither
strength nor even breath.
But this is Saturday, and here's my little
peaceful nest,
Where can have all by myself, good long
Sunday rest.
All through the week I've counted counted
on this precious hour;
That thought alone has kept me up, alone
gave me the power
To finish all the weary work, to live through
days oppressed,
So tired, so tired, and longing, praying for a
Sunday rest.
Here is my candle; there's my little bed, so
sweet and nice
You're dear to me, you little cot, Just now
above all price;
And once when Pm in bed I'll Sleep and
sleep with happy zest,
For l am tired, so tired, and want long.
long Sunday rest.
I ought TO eat, no doubt, but Pm not hunprv
in the least,
And couldn't eat if were seated at a rich
mans feast;
But let me make cup of tea-that may per-
haps be best
And yet 1 only care for rest for one long
Sunday rest.
All day I'll sleep; to-morrow's sun shall never
make me rise;
I'll peep at him between the shades as he as
cends the skies;
But here I'll sleep and dream as he goes on
from East to West,
For have wept, and wept, for one long
quiet Sunday rest.
I'll light my spirit-lamp and heat the water
for some tea;
Here's sugar and a little milk. How very
nice twill bel
do declare that, after all, I'm very, very
blest,
For shall | not be happy when have my
Sunday rest?
Make haste and heat, good water. Waiting
is my bed;
sleep almost while you are heating, so heavy
is my head;
Yes, good is tea, and good are many things;
but best-oh, best,
or all the world for mes long, delightful
Sunday rest.
The light is out, and here am upon NV nil
low.
How sweet it isl All me! what made NV
head then flutter so?
I'm weak; bnt I'll be strong on Monday.
when I'm up and dressed,
For then l shall have had my precious nre-
cious Sunday rest.
And is it morn' All, yes, for there's the sun
far up the sky,
And oh! it makes my heart so glad that Pm
allowed to lie;
For it is Sunday, Sunday true, and have
got my guest
Here 1 can stay, and have my1ong, delicious
Sunday rest.
1 dreamed 1 was child, again, and at the
dear old farm,
SO sweet so calm, where wickedness came
not, nor any harm;
oh, mother motherl let me lie,once mora
upon your breast,
For there alone my heart can find perfect
Sunday rest.
wonder what they're doing now, dear
mother fof
must give up the shop, and, soon as 1 am
strong, go back,
For there, though we are poor, in peace and
love we yet were blest,
And all our days were like blissful Sunday
rest.
can not well make out-there's such a ring
ing in my earl
How faint amp Those sounds, those pleas.
ant soundsl Is some one nearY
On no; only dream. In attics no one comes
as guest.
I'm quite alone. No friend or foe will break
my Sunday rest
hear my little sister Betsie's voice-but she
is dead!
Hes, yes, L see her now; she smooths nv nil
low, soothes my head.
l can not breathe, What is it weighs so bea.
vy'on my breast?
Oh, come dear Betsie, lie with me, and take
your Sunday rest
How strange it isl How dark and coldl All
me! lam so weak,
Oh, where is mother, where is BetsieY Some
one-some one speaki
Oh yes, l will be up-oh, speak-on Monday
up and dressed
1 can't do not see--who calls?-I come-mv
-Sunday-rest.
A moan, quickened breath, and there, upon
the pillow hushed
She lay, so wan, and yet so fair but like a
flower crushed;
And ON her bosom lay her thin white hands,
together pressed
And marble cold She's found an everlast- |
ing Sunday rest,
%. B. Bunce.
UNCLE GRASPER.