Goldsboro weekly argus. [volume] (Goldsboro, N.C.) 1885-1909, 1903-05-28

Ing, passing.
But in this deathwatch of the rose
there is the comfort that they shall
come again. Nothing truly dies
Flowers seem to fade and pass away
but they only await through wintry
hours the coming of another May.
The roses in the brides fair youn
face may pale to the white banner O
that which every man holds holy
but the flush lives in her heart anC
survives in her other self, sent il
the noblest mystery of this life; anG
poor indeed is that man or woman
who cannot Or may not cry
"Roses, roses, I love you SOL"
For the loving faithful there is nc
death of the roses of joy, my be
loved. In fact,
"There is no death! The stars &c
down
To rise on some fairer shore,
And bright in heavens .jewelled
crown
They will shine forever more"
1t is for every n of us to gather
roses-roses Of the garden, roses of
the heart, roses that bloom abund-
antly of the human instinct to divine
prayer!
Upon the starved flowers and the
I.~r--- In,xy0c 4ho oholor oo-%Jrx
fall, but TO the w~ide-open eyes of
mortals whose souls are not untidy
the shadows are crested with soften
ed sunbeams, and the pure of heart
are unafraid. It may have not been
yours, my beloved, to keep yourself
unspotted from the world; but if it
clean, your spirit tidy, and walk
hand in hand with sweet charity
and in some measure make for the
worlds freedom from the tolls of
grossness and wrong, and. cleanse it
of the rust that corrodes and cor
rupts, then, indeed, for such as you
no gloom has frightened; none shall
fright, even when the cool and slum-
berous breath comes from that I'M
murmuring stream of the unmeasur-
ed shores whittier journey the weary
to rest at last. Perhaps;-and so
will the harbor-lights Of love guide
you to your rightful place in the
blessed port Of sleep. Your ''care
casts anchor in the harbor of a
Dream" and there is rest too deep
to be regardtul of the unhappiness
that follows the footsteps of sin and
hovers over mans injustice, I'M
righteousness, uncharitableness, and
hate.
Roses of love bud and blossom in
every life that loves and every life
that prays. The cooling Of summers
opulent warmth spells the warming |
of many a human heart that is fast
coming to the seedtime Of JOY and is
hndreaming of the ripened harvest
of the long afterwhile, when the odor
of the roses in their fading shall be
even sweeter than it is in their bud
ding and poisoning.
Eyes of the sweetest rose in the
rosebud garden of Womanhood still
fash and sparkle like diamonds; red
lips still whisper something of the
story the angels love to hear-the
worlds oldest and newest story;
stthe beautiful, the Inexpensive she"
still swings upon the gate of some
mans heart and still wears the roses
his love has planted in her fair life.
The world is still the world of the
lovers, and it must be so through all
its existence. To-day there cometh
her king, and to him she gives her
hands in gladness.
~ am but a woman, and the anx-
ieties Of this world weigh heavily
upon me. Thou shalt lead me as
thine own
So some woman saith every day,
when her roses are budded to burst
ing and are bursting to bloom; and
SO she cries in her heart, to the bios
of her joy,
80 roses, roses, / love you SOL"
- D,cciono haNo ont