The Marietta journal. [volume] (Marietta, Ga.) 1866-1909, 1890-11-13
For the Marietta Journal
A HALLOWEEN CHOIR PRACTzCING

was that October afternoon = For
the first time the clouds had donned
that peculiarly heavy leaden hue,
their winter dress, and were hang
ing low over the horizon, sullenly
shutting out the sunlight, and as
sdllenly holding back the rain, if
there was so much as a drop of
moisture in their cold extant of
grey. They did not appear to con-
tain any thing resembling pity, or a
tear drop.
The very marble headstones were
more t2nderly sympathetic, for,
though silent, they spoke lovingly
of those they held in memory.
Through the gnarled oaks the
wind LOANED and sighed, mournful-
ly gathering in it's first harvest of
autumn leaves, whirling them hither
and scattering them thither, now
dashiDg them against the old family
vault, now throwing them gently
over yonder little new-made mound,
as if to keep it warm in the wintry
blasts coming on apace.
l had loitered long in this quiet
resting place of the dead-fcr we
forget time when we listen to the
stories told by the silent marble, of
those who shaped their destinies,
before you and I came to take their
places. | did not hear the foot
steps of the old sexton as he hobbled
along to the church, and not until
the old mans mutterings to himself
attracted my attention did see him.
eyes, massa, many's de Sat'day
night dis ole darkev's been shut
fin roun' des hyer church yard. De
choir aPus practisus of er Sat'day
night, and pears to me like nobody
kin blow de origin to suit 'em cep'in
old Isaac. For nigh onto sixty year
now hev | sot thar an gin fifty lifts
for de ole hundred doxology. Den
it were dat de gran nanny oh sum
of desc berry cbillun wot's comm
hyer to practus tonight was a sing
in up dar in de gallery. Oar she
lies now col an stiff in her grave,
an de Kernel along side OBJ her.
Dat was in de good ole time wen
dey didn't sing all desc new chunes
wot dey does now, an none oh 'em
sings like Miss Jane usen' to, an
de Kernel, dey was bofe young den,
an it pears to me like de angels in
hebben would stop dey song to lis
ten when deE two chilluns agun to
sing. Ole Isaac usen to watch EN-
an he knowed it want gwine to be
fur long befo'-he hev to 'xert his
self powerful like to blow de weddin
march fur dem two. An ole Isaac
he bowed de berryal chant for 'em
bofe, an he's hyer yet, he dunno
fur how long, but de Lords will be
dun. Come in de church, massa,
you kin sit back dar in de corner
an hyear de music tonight eff you
want'er. l yere 'em say dey had
sum purity new slecshuns fur GAIL
Saints Day." OATS ter morro',
you know"
Had | been dreaming? Could |
have fallen asleep? Surely they
were singing that soul-stirring hymn
''From all thy saints in warfare,
For all thy saints at rest"
just a moment ago and this voice
was certainly not leading then, THAT
was bright and young and joyous,
but not like this. Had this been
attuned with the harps of the an
gels, it could not have been sweetcr.
Then there was chorus of voices
singing, but now surely heard but
four.
Spellbound l listened. Could l
believe there was so much music in
old Balerma j.? Could l believe
there was so much in Arlington ?
Hadn't the choir passed them by on
ly moment ago, as old and musty ?
But now my very SOULS depths were
stirred.
Again and again they sang them,
and almost unconsciously l joined in
the sweet harmony.
Manoah and Olmultz, Federal
Street and Toplady, one after anoth-
err until they no longer seemed old,
but carried me back, and their
beauty was as fresh as if they were
just from the composers hand.
Just one mere, Miss Jane, to-
morrow is All saints" you know,
AID this is new and appropriate.
Once more that voice led it's COM