THE INDIAN ADVOCATE
as red as scarlet, and as numerous as the sands of the
sea still does Jesus beckon to the confessional the foot
stool of his mercy, where screened from human eye, we
may unbosom ourselves in the sanctuary of the most High
and he will address us in similar words which, like music's
sweetest strains, will greet our ear and thrill our rejoycing
heart. "Many sins are forgiven thee because thou hast
An April Reverie.
I list as I lay in my trundle bed,
To the pattering raindrops ovarhead,
While a mother's lullaby, soft and low,
Sang me to sleep in the sweet long ago.
The mother is sleeping, forever still,
In her narrow dark home upon the hill,
While the raindrops piercing the sylvan gloom
Beat requiem lullabies o'er her tomb.
I think of bright Spring, with its fresh'ning show'rs,
Of the raindrops kissing the tender flow'rs,
Of youth, and of love and the shaded bow'rs,
Of thoughts that were pleasant, at twilight hours;
Of the passing clouds and the rain-bowed sky,
Of the hopes returning when hearts heat high.
All this, far away o'er the waste of years,
As visions of long-vanished dreams, appears.
The small raindrops patter unsteadily,
Like the steps of one who tarried with me,
Then toddled away to eternity:
A ray of bright sunshine, a child of glee.
O'er the withered oak's boughs, the raindrops flow,
On its fallen leaves that moulder below,
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