Recitations for the Social Circle Part 23

Oh, Heaven, for a breeze to blow!"

But never a shower from the cloud would burst, And never a breeze would come: O G.o.d, to think that man can thirst And starve in sight of home!

But out to sea with the drifting tide The vessel drifted away-- Till the far-off sh.o.r.e, like the dim cloud, died; And the wild crew ceased to pray!

Like fiends they glared, with their eyes aglow; Like beasts with hunger wild: But a mother prayed, in the cabin below, By the bed of her little child.

It slept, and lo! in its sleep it smiled,-- A babe of summers three: "O Father, save my little child, Whatever comes to me!"

Calm gleamed the sea, calm gleamed the sky, No cloud--no sail in view; And they cast them lots, for who should die To feed the starving crew!

Like beasts they glared, with hunger wild, And their red-glazed eyes aglow, And the death-lot fell on the little child That slept in the cabin below!

And the mother shrieked in wild despair: "O G.o.d, my child--my son.

They will take his life, it is hard to bear; Yet, Father, Thy will be done."

And she waked the child from its happy sleep, And she kneeled by the cradle bed; "We thirst, my child, on the lonely deep; We are dying, my child, for bread.

"On the lone, lone sea no sail--no breeze; Not a drop of rain in the sky; We thirst--we starve--on the lonely seas; And thou, my child, must die!"

She wept: what tears her wild soul shed Not I, but Heaven knows best.

And the child rose up from its cradle bed, And crossed its hands on its breast:

"Father," he lisped, "so good, so kind, Have pity on mother's pain: For mother's sake, a little wind; Father, a little rain!"

And she heard them shout for the child from the deck, And she knelt on the cabin stairs: "The child!" they cry, "the child--stand back-- And a curse on your idiot prayers!"

And the mother rose in her wild despair, And she bared her throat to the knife: "Strike--strike me--me; but spare, oh, spare My child, my dear son's life!"

O G.o.d, it was a ghastly sight,-- Red eyes, like flaming brands, And a hundred belt-knives flashing bright In the clutch of skeleton hands!

"Me--me--strike--strike, ye fiends of death!"

But soft--through the ghastly air Whose falling tear was that? whose breath Waves through the mother's hair?

A flutter of sail--a ripple of seas-- A speck on the cabin pane; O G.o.d; it's a breeze--a breeze-- And a drop of blessed rain!

And the mother rushed to the cabin below, And she wept on the babe's bright hair.

"The sweet rain falls the sweet winds blow; Father has heard thy prayer!"

Bu the child had fallen asleep again, And lo! in its sleep it smiled.

"Thank G.o.d," she cried, "for His wind and His rain!

Thank G.o.d, for my little child!"

IN THE BOTTOM DRAWER.

I saw wife pull out the bottom drawer of the old family bureau this evening, and went softly out, and wandered up and down, until I knew that she had shut it up and gone to her sewing. We have some things laid away in that drawer which the gold of kings could not buy, and yet they are relics which grieve us until both our hearts are sore. I haven't dared look at them for a year, but I remember each article.

There are two worn shoes, a little chip hat with part of the brim gone, some stockings, pants, a coat, two or three spools, bits of broken crockery, a whip and several toys. Wife--poor thing--goes to that drawer every day of her life, and prays over it, and lets her tears fall upon the precious articles; but I dare not go.

Sometimes we speak of little Jack, but not often. It has been a long time, but somehow we can't get over grieving. He was such a burst of sunshine into our lives that his going away has been like covering our every-day existence with a pall. Sometimes, when we sit alone of an evening, I writing and she sewing, a child on the street will call out as our boy used to, and we will both start up with beating hearts and a wild hope, only to find the darkness more of a burden than ever.

It is so still and quiet now. I look up at the window where his blue eyes used to sparkle at my coming, but he is not there. I listen for his pattering feet, his merry shout, and his ringing laugh; but there is no sound. There is no one to climb over my knees, no one to search my pockets and tease for presents: and I never find the chairs turned over, the broom down, or ropes tied to the door-k.n.o.bs.

I want some one to tease me for my knife; to ride on my shoulder; to lose my axe; to follow me to the gate when I go, and be there to meet me when I come; to call "good-night" from the little bed, now empty. And wife, she misses him still more; there are no little feet to wash, no prayers to say; no voice teasing for lumps of sugar, or sobbing with the pain of a hurt toe; and she would give her own life, almost, to awake at midnight, and look across to the crib and see our boy there as he used to be.

So we preserve our relics; and when we are dead we hope that strangers will handle them tenderly, even if they shed no tears over them.

EMULATION (UP TO DATE).

BY JAMES CLARENCE HARVEY.

"He who would thrive must rise at five,"

The old folks used to say, And so, of course, to thrive the more, Tis better still to rise at four, And make a longer day.

Still smarter he who wakes at three, And hurries out of bed; And he who would this man outdo Must rise when clocks are striking two, To earn his daily bread.

To rise and run at stroke of one, Advantage still may keep; But he who would them all forestall Must never go to bed at all, And die for lack of sleep.

DESTINY OF OUR COUNTRY.

BY R. C. WINTHROP.

Here, then, sir, I bring these remarks to a close. I have explained, to the best of my ability, the views which I entertain of the great questions of the day. Those views may be misrepresented hereafter, as they have been heretofore; but they cannot be misunderstood by any one who desires, or who is even willing, to understand them.

Most gladly would I have found myself agreeing more entirely with some of the friends whom I see around me, and with more than one of those elsewhere, with whom I have always been proud to be a.s.sociated, and whose lead, on almost all occasions, I have rejoiced to follow.

Our tie, however, I am persuaded, still remains to us all--a common devotion to the Union of these States, and a common determination to sacrifice everything but principle to its preservation. Our responsibilities are indeed great. This vast republic, stretching from sea to sea, and rapidly outgrowing everything but our affections, looks anxiously to us, this day, to take care that it receives no detriment.

Nor is it too much to say, that the eyes and the hearts of the friends of const.i.tutional freedom throughout the world are at this moment turned eagerly here,--more eagerly than ever before,--to behold an example of successful republican inst.i.tutions, and to see them come out safely and triumphantly from the fiery trial to which they are now subjected!

I have the firmest faith that these eyes and these hearts will not be disappointed. I have the strongest belief that the visions and phantoms of disunion which now appall us will soon be remembered only like the clouds of some April morning, or "the dissolving views" of some evening spectacle.

I have the fullest conviction that this glorious republic is destined to outlast all, all, at either end of the Union, who may be plotting against its peace, or predicting its downfall.

"Fond, impious man! think'st thou yon sanguine cloud Raised by thy breath, can quench the orb of day?

To morrow, it repairs its golden flood, And warms the nations with redoubled ray!"