A Welcome to Snow [pp. 220]

TIHE LADIES' REPOSITORr.
SATURDAY NIGHT.
ATURDAY night! and one by one the
shadows creep from their mysterious hiding
places, where, all day long, they have patiently
waited the sun's departure to hold their wierd
ghostly trysts in the eventide. Saturday night!
and the great weary world, worn with its six
days' toil, and strife, and tumult, folds its tired
hands, and looks forward eagerly, gratefully, to
to-morrow's peaceful, calm, and blessed rest.
Saturday night! another week's work finished,
another week's vexations and cares gone by,
and the jaded, worried look fades from the man's
face as he hurries along with quickening pace
in the deepening twilight; a few steps farther
he sees the "light in the window;" a little
nearer and a group of bright expectant faces
pressed close against the window panes. peer
out into the gathering gloom, watching for father; a moment more and he is shut in from
the jostling, busy throng, and finds rest amid
the love, and warmth, and smiles of home.
Saturday night! the last bill is paid from her
slender earnings, and the scanty remnant deposited carefully in the brown, cracked pitcher,
to eke out next month's rent; with a sigh of
relief she gathers her little fatherless ones about
her, a stranger smile wreathing her faded lips,
and illuming her sad face, as she takes time
to listen to their innocent prattle; while from
her sorrow-burdened heart goes up a mute
thank-offering for the day to come, God's oftgiven, ever-welcome gift.
Saturday night! thought flies like a nestseeking bird homeward to the dear circle who,
round the evening lamp, talk of the absent one;
a mist vails the eyes, and the stars, which a
moment ago walked their blue paths so brightly
and cheerfully, grow suddenly dim; and the
cool Autumn air, lately so fresh and invigorating, breathes into the soul a melancholy dew;
two big round drops fall upon the musty page,
as thoughts of home fill the heart.
Saturday night! a voice feeble, but with tremulous music in its utterances, like some ancient
harp which once breathed melodies strong and
clear, but whose loosened strings now sigh with
plaintive quiverings, "The night cometh ""the night wherein no man can work." Fair
morning with its rose-tinted hours bearing on
their sunny bosoms the dew and freshness of
childhood, faded-faded away. Gone the innocent child-life with its pure child-thoughts, and
child-wonders, and little childish works and
ways, gone-all gone. Flown midday's strength
and vigor when the heart beat highest and
warmest, when most real and earnest was the
solemn march of life. Gone its high-built plans
and purposes, its best, heartiest strivings for
self, and man, and God, gone-gone forever.
Alone in the gathering darkness of Saturday
night; alone, for graves have been left behind
on the wayside-graves every here and there,
clasping in their cold embrace "the loved and
lost." Nerveless, the strong arm upon which
it was such a pleasure to lean in the "happy,
early day," and such a comfort to cling to in
the days prime and declining. Cold, the little
hands that nestled confidingly in hers, and resting now the little wayworn feet, and sleeping
the eager, restless little travelers that so soon
grew weary.
Evening has waned into night. The sand in
the glass runs low. The lamp flickers feebly,
and the soul is busy making preparations for
its final departure. Out on the still, sleeping
air, twelve o'clock rings its solemn, thrilling
knell, each low, deep peal telling not of grief,
not of joy, but of the night ending, morning
dawning, Saturday completed, Sabbath beginning, earth receding, heaven opening, revealing
to the enraptured, almost disinthralled soul "its
eternal weight of glory."
"Joy cometh in the morning."
A WELCOME TO SNOW.
BEAUTIFUL visitant! softly and purely
Fall thy white flakes on our desolate earthBlessing in silence, but blessing us surely;
The bareness of Winter has gone at thy birth.
We gaze on thy loveliness, pleased and enchanted,
As by Nature's kind hand thou art lavishly strewn;
Thy delicate beauty can not be transcended
E'en by emerald brightness of rose-blooming June.
Emblem of purity, gently descending,
To wrap in thy mantle our bleak mother Earth;
With the sky's lovely azure thy gleaming white
blending Fitting scene for the time of Immanuel's birth!
Thy crystallized fragments, all sparkling and glowing
In the glittering rays of a clear Winter's sun,
Our little ones gather, with mirth overflowing,
And shout thee their welcome with frolicsome fun.
The farmer will bless thee for warming and covering
The seeds of his harvest the forthcoming year,
And while thy soft down round his homestead is
hov'ring,
Contentedly wait for the Spring to appear.
May God's grace, like thy gentle descent, kindly
falling,
Still comfort and bless us weak mortals below,
While we wait for the time when, if true to our
calling,
Our hearts will be pure as the new-fallen snow.
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