St. Paul daily globe. [volume] (Saint Paul, Minn.) 1884-1896, 1891-05-10

Z2T1 They're vsn a an right 9trd if
@|s' but they're liable
| 10 bolt"
| The Sundays came and went within the
| church at Beulah Hill,
| The youthful preachers eloquence enthralled
| the people still;
| But fair Eleanor Livingstone came not unto
| her place
Within the choir to grace it with her charm
| ing voice and face.
The sewing circle met each week and filed
its purpose well,
| And oft was heard above the buzz, "Sez he, ~
| sez |, - 'du telll''
The dances and the parties at the house of
| the old squire,
The gossips said could but result in conse-
| quences dire.
| Sal id Nina Mix, a spinster of quite uncertain
age,
'In missionary work guess we'd better all
engage,
| For Beulah Hill has heather folk within its
| own possession,
| And that Eleanor Livingstone just heads the
whole procession.
''Our minister's a-tIYin' hard to build the
| church up here,
And she's a.tryin' to pull it down; it seems
nm 10 me IL queer
| That he don't go and talk with her, and tell
her just what's what,
| OF course he can't convert her, for they say
|
| In time the spinster's sharp remark came to
| the pastors ears,
| About the wisdom of the course he had some
| inward fears
But as he had not called upon Squire Living
| stone, he thought
| AS they were in his parish now perhaps he
| really ought
| ward trepidation.
| A lukewarm welcome was at best his highest
expectation,
| But both Eleanor and the squire met him
| with Warmest smile,
| And in their manner showed no sense of sin
| fitness or guile.
| Eleanor's charming face brought back to him
with startling power
How he had looked up at it in q very trying
| hour,
| And how with promptness and with tact she
| to his rescue came,
And helped him rise above the fear Of ridi-
| cule and shame.
1t was a fair and fearless face, intelligent
! and sweet;
In stylish costume she was robed from head
| to little feet
And Rev. Calvin Wesley Clark admitted in
his mind,
A prettier little heather it was very HARD to
| find.
She showed a well-bred interest in what he
| had to say
| Regarding matters in the church: the half
hour fed away
Before he knew where it had gone, and as he
| took his hat
And touched her hand in parting his heart
went pit-a-pat.
In calling on the poor within his parish
| often he
| Was much surprised the trace of some kind,
| helping hand to see;
| But who il was they told him not: he thought
| best not to ask,
| Convinced some Christian worker had taken
| up the task.
| And when dread disease appeared-con-
| tagious, full of death
While people passed the dwellings where it
was and held their breath;
| The brave young pastor, making still his calls
| where Death was king,
| Found that some one had gone before like
| healing angels wing.
Some hand had moistened the dry lips and
| bathed the fevered face,
| Had left some daintieS for the sick, some
! flowers in q vase;
Had softened the hard pillow beneath the
| throbbing head,
| And words of sympathy andskind encourage
| ment had said
And oft he wondered who this good Samar-
Whose fearless footsteps in the path of duty
he could see,
| Who in the way his Master bid him go went
They told him twas a lady, he could learn
| nothing more.
| One night the youthful preacher went home
with aching head.
His lips were dry, his mouth was parched.
his face was hot and red;
And ere the morning breezes were whispering
| to the trees,
He lay within the clutches of the fatal dread
disease.
Then followed days and weeks that were to
him perfect blank,
| In which the tickering flame of life still
lower, lower sank.
| While Deacon Race and his good wife kept
faithful watch beside
The stricken pastor as he neared deaths cold,
| mysterious tide.
So great dread the people had of the dis
| ease, none dared
10 venture near the deacon'S house, though
| Beulah Hill all shared
| In deep solieitude for him, and offered earn
| est prayer
That God would do as they did not and give
him tender care.
The good old deacon and his wife gave way
| beneath the strain
| Their aged feet grew slower and their forms
were racked with pain;
| They vowed, however, that they would still
| give him proper care
| And watch beside his bed until they died to-
| gether there.
| The doctor voiced his sentiments in tones of
| Indignation
|
relaxation;
And every one in Beulah Hill declared it was
| a shame,
| Then with heroic fortitude remained at home
| the same.
| The next day came a gentle rap upon the
| deacon's door,
A sound he had not heard in many weary
| day before,
And as he opened it a smile upon his features
| shone
| For there upon the threshold stood Eleanor
| Livingstone.
| She took her place from day to day beside
| the sick mans bed,
And let the aged couple sleep and watch by
She stipulated only that the people should
| not know;
The doctor and the deacon promised her it
should be SO.
One day the sun was sinking low behind the
| Western hill,
! The stricken pastor lay as dead. his brow
was damp and chill;
| Beside him stood Eleanor, the deacon and
| his wife,
! While, watch in hand, the doctor timed the
| ebbing tide of life
1t is the crisis, will he live? The waves of
deaths cold tide
Embrace his feat; now higher still the chill
| ing pillows ride.
| lie stands waist deep within the food, the
doctor S face grows grave;
1t seems no human arm can now avail this
life TO save.
| The minutes drag like weary hours in silence
deep as death;
| The anxious watchers stand and watch the
faint and fieeting breath.
| Then as they gaze they see change come
| DER the pallid face,
| He opes his eyes and gazes in Eleanor's
| bending face.
He smiles and feebly beckons her. her ear
| close down 10 bring
Then, with pleading look at her, he family
whispers sing
| She turns unto the doctor, he gives assent;
she stands
Beside the couch with quiet grace and softly
folded hands,
| And then. in sweet and softened tones. with
in that little room