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O COME TO ME, MY MOTHER!
BY MAY MORRIS.
Many long years of pleasure, care and pain
Have passed, dear mother, yet mine eyes would fain I
Thy sweet face see,
Angel, O come to me !
0 leave, 1 pray, our Father's blest abode,
Retrace thy stops—the dark and thorny road
Of earth, once more,
Far from the heavenly shore!
v come, for I would gaze upon thy face
And in thy soul-lit eyes, again would trace
A mother's love
Leading her child above !
My heart has wandered thro' these varying years
To the sweet moments when my childish fears
"Were hushed to rest
On thy maternal breast;
And now, all weary of the toil and strife,
Which have been mine In this my chequered life,
I would once more
Fain live that childhood o'er.
Would listen to thy council—words of truth—
Which-thy pure lips oft uttered in my youth
Ere thou didst leave
Thy little child to grieve.
I've watched thy coming, mother, thro' the air,
And strained mine eyes to catch thy pinions fair,
Hovering near,
Thy lonely child to cheer.
But thee I have not seen, nor can I now,
And yet methinks I feel upon my brow
Thy gentle hand
Like a pure, pearl-like band.
And hear thy spirit-voice in whispered tone
Hiddiug me patient wait, tho' sad, alone,
Till death shall come,
Then thou wilt lead me home.
Mother I'll patient wait, tho' dim mine eyes,
And labor on to gain that Paradise,
When- :'.'l is love,
Thy spirit's home above.
THE PATRIOT'SVOvV
ow the wind goes howling by to-night, mak
the old elms, which stand before the cottage
r, moan and sigh like the voices of friends
long ago carried out from under the roof, under
their branches, to the churchyard. Those tall,
old trees, shaded tho head of father in his child
hood and mine. They have seen tho dead borne
out; they have whispered gently over meetings J
and partings, joys and sorrows. They dropped J
I She had struggled through the ills of life, till the
j load had become too heavy, until her oompanion
fainted at noonday, and then her spirit had wing- j
ed its flight, leaving grandpa and I, as a legacy j
to my lost brother.
How I loved that brother, and heeherishedmo
as tenderly as a mother; ho bore all my childish
moods with patience, guiding mo on, until I
grew to worship the brave and gentle boy. We
grew together in the little elm cottage to man
and womanhood, and I knew not tho want of
father or mother. He had a kind word for all,
and he was the light of a grandparent's eye, and
when ho needed him most, the war trump sound
ed over the land, and the thunder from tho full
[ ing walls of Sumter came reverberating among
I the quiet hills of our village. The Union called
for her brave sons, and nobly they responded to
the wailing cry. Mothers, wives, and sisters
were offering precious sacrifices on their coun
try's altar—but could I ?
My brother was my all, and in my selfishness
I asked if others could not yield up their loved
ones better than I. My brother told me that his
country was next his God, and she had called
him,—"and, sister, will you have mo prove false
to the trust she places in me? I should be but ■
cowardly protector for you if I close my ears to
this cry for succor, that echoing through our
I vales and among the blue hills."
1 strove with my pain, and told him I could no!
lire without him. His sad eyes and pale coun
tenance told of his sorrow, and ho shrank from
his young friends as though branded wiih cow
ardice. He pleaded with mo again and a gain,
but I resisted all his supplications.
It was one soft, mild evening when brother
Will invited mo to walk. He led mo to my mo
ther's grave. Ho leaned his head against the
slab and whispered: "Mother, do not curse
your son, that he fails his suffering country in
time of need." I saw his tears flow, and when
lie laid his hand on my bowed head and told me
ho hoped I would never regret what I had done,
my heart failed me, and there above the precious
dust, and bado him go. Tho last ray of the set
ting sun flashed across his face, lighting it up
with a bright joy; but it senta dagger down into
Imy heart wrung with anguish. Ho soothed me
gently, and talked hopefully of his return; and
when wo stood beneath tho elms and saw the
round moon come up into the soft blue, I told
him calmly to go and do his duty faithfully.—
And my suffering soul, now that tho first thrill
was over, looked out from her windows far down
on Southern soil, and saw his form Stretched
upon the groen earth waiting for tho foe.
Never shall I forgot how proudly ho stood be
fore us in his new uniform. He knelt at grand
pa's feet, and he, rising on his cane, laid his
withered hands on Will's head, and blessed him.
his tall, lithe form as ho drilled, and my heai
W«a fill d with ■ dreary pain, as I thought of th
blood that must flow, and some of those soldier
so full of joy, would yield up their lives. Whos
son, brother or husband would it be? Then th
thought, it may bo mine. O no, ho was too good
too true, too brave, to die; and I felt as if th
tendrils of my love would encircle and save hii
from all harm.
When tin? spring buds were oponirg, and th
green leaves unfolding, I stood again beneatl
the elms, and while my heart was bleeding grea
drops of warm life blood, I clasped him in m;
arms, and ; seemed as if death wore near. II
tore himself nwr>y at last from tho arms tha
would fain have held him, and with straininj
eyes I gazed on him as ho pissed out of view
v 'th his last kiss still warm on his lips and hi;
"God bios? you," in my ears. When at last;
fell ho was gone, I fell upon tho grass, and moan
ed in agony. I hoard the shrill whistle of th<
cant as they came to take my loved. Then Isa
up and looked at the wreath of smoke as it ros<
over the trees, wafted then by the swiftly reced
ing engine, which I only knew was bearin I,<
away, and leaving mo to desolation. Then i
sniiied as if the heart within mo was bursting
and molten lire was within my veins. Whei
lb.' shades of evening fell at last over the suffer
I ing earth, weary and forsaken I sought my bed,
days passed on, and then wo received a letter,
and (), what joy to hear that he was well and
happy. We hoard again and then you remem
ber how tho earth quivered and trempled as the
booming of cannon of Bull Run belched fortl 1
death; how brave men fell like tho the leaves
IV »m the trees in autumn. You \tfio know nol
the agony of suspense can never realize the suf
ferlngSOf IhatwQok. Every paper was seized
witli eagerness, but tho sickening dread made
me almost too faint to road. His name was not
aumng the dead or wounded, and my heart re
vived. But What was that? surely it could not
1 be,—Yes, he was among tho "missing." You
w hose loved are gathered under tho roof safely
r uk God that you know not the meaning of
that awful word, and a k him that you never
1 The weeks passed away and yet no tidings, no
hope. Day by day grandfather's stops grew
more feeble, the sunken eye more wistful and
the palo cheek paler, and then I believed the
last tio was indeed breaking. How I passed
| t hose gloomy weeks I know not. I have a drea
ry recollection of my mother's grave at each set
fin,- of the sun, and my only thought, a brother
lost and a sacrilice accepted. Then came a letter
from tho captain of his company, who had been
I Bines the battle. I seized on the letter with
f nerve strainocl to its utmost, until the paiu
bed my hands and dimmed my eyes. The
Is of that fatal letter are stamped upon my
\. It ran thus: "Your noble brother foil
ill Hun, on the 21st, bravely standing at his
