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What Is My Life Like?

From Ailenroc’s Book, by Cornelia Alexander

What is my life like? Some murky river
Swept by wild winds upon its way,
Where willows weep and shrinking aspens quiver
And poisonous vapors cloud the sunny day.

Upon the green banks lie in beauty sleeping
Full many a golden dream, too bright to last;
But, ah! the rapid river, onward sweeping,
Leaves them among the treasures of the past.

Sometimes the sky is blue and birds are singing,
And winds float laden with the breath of flowers,
While in the distance, clearly ringing,
Joy bells are telling out the happy hours.

Again dim clouds come rolling o’er me,
Casting their shadows on my weary soul,
While dim and darker grows the way before me,
Where vivid lightnings flash and thunders roll.

Then is my life most like a river, rushing
In fierce, impetuous haste its course along,
While the wild rain in bitter tears comes gushing,
Swelling its bosom with a sense of wrong—

Wrong, that so oft across the sky come sailing
Dark clouds to hide from me the genial sun;
Wrong, that the breeze should change to wailing;
Wrong, that my hopes should ne’er be won.

Yet in my darkest hours a voice comes stealing
From my soul’s chamber: “Let His will be done.”
Then sweet and low the Sabbath bells are pealing,
And shines again the glorious sun.

The end will come full soon. This restless river
Will some day reach the grand and mighty sea;
This heaving, troubled heart will rest forever
In the still waters of eternity.

“Example Is Better than Precept”

From Ailenroc’s Book, by Cornelia Alexander

“Pa is pretty late getting home.”

It was Mrs. Jackson who spoke, standing in the doorway and shading her eyes with her hand—not because of the strong light, but because her eyes were weak and she had a habit of curving her hand over them. Two children—a boy and girl—were looking out, too, for “Pa,” for that was another of Mrs. Jackson’s habits—calling her husband “Pa.”

“I think I hear the buggy,” said Tom.

“Yes,” Alice chimed in, “and I see old Ball’s white face.”

Mrs. Jackson went back to her supper, which was smoking on the stove; while Tom ran to open the big gate, and Alice went to meet her father.

Mr. Jackson was a cheery, good-humored kind of man, and his coming generally brought the sunshine with it; and now, when he came in laughing, stamping, and laden with bundles, like a great, rough Santa Claus, his good humor was infectious, and his wife bustled smilingly around the table, while the children clamored for a peep into the parcels.

“No, no,” he said; “wait till ‘ma’ gets supper over.” So you perceive he had a habit, too.

Supper was soon over after that, and the dishes cleared away in a hurry; then came the unwrapping of the mysterious parcels.

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“What Father Takes”

From Ailenroc’s Book, by Cornelia Alexander

They drew around the festal board,
Where hearts beat high with mirth and joy,
And bubbles danced on beaker’s brim—
‘Twas fairyland to that fair boy.

Old age was there, and manhood’s prime,
And smiling beauty fresh and fair,
Who bowed to toasts of flashing eyes,
To smiling lips and flowing hair.

“What will you take?” the waiter asked,
And paused to hear the youth’s reply,
Who, all unused to such gay scenes,
Upon his father turns his eye;

And as the waiter smiling stands,
His sweet, young voice the silence breaks
In flutelike music on the air:
“I’ll take whatever father takes.”

A thrill ran through the father’s heart,
A thrill of pain, and yet of joy.
He saw a way to guide the feet
Of his bright, trusting boy.

A nobler look grew on his brow,
Even as the ruby wine went by.
“Waiter,” he said, “bring water pure
For this my boy and I.”

O, fathers, will you stop and think,
Lest some day your sad heart should break
Because a son has gone to ruin
From taking what he saw his father take?

Hymn of the Week – David’s Song of Thanks

[O]n that day David first appointed that thanksgiving be sung to the LORD by Asaph and his brothers.

Oh give thanks to the LORD; call upon his name;
make known his deeds among the peoples!
Sing to him; sing praises to him;
tell of all his wondrous works!
Glory in his holy name;
let the hearts of those who seek the LORD rejoice!
Seek the LORD and his strength;
seek his presence continually!
Remember the wondrous works that he has done,
his miracles and the judgments he uttered,
O offspring of Israel his servant,
sons of Jacob, his chosen ones!
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One Christmas Day

From Ailenroc’s Book, by Cornelia Alexander

“Miss Sims and Miss Nellie Sims, and Miss Horn and Miss Mary Ann Horn, and Miss Hendon, all must come to Mr. J. R. Coleman’s on the twenty-fifth day of December, to a quilting. Be sure to came, and don’t fail to bring your needles with you.”

So read an invitation received by my mother, and including the whole family except my father and brother, who pretended to be very angry over the slight.

I had never been to a big quilting, and, of course, looked forward to the day with great anticipations. I was surprised that my sisters cared so little for the invitation and indulged in so much laughter concerning it.

We had not been living in the country long, and the Colemans were among our first acquaintances. They were “good livers”—a good, old-fashioned family—and, while not going in for style at all, lived well in a rough manner.

Mrs. Coleman was uneducated, but she had a brother who had been off to school, and who, I thought, was an exception. Viewed in the calm light of riper years, his face was very foolish. His forehead and chin retreated from a large nose, and his pale hair and light blue eyes gave him a washed-out appearance; but I thought him charming. He seemed to be quite literary, and I loved books better than anything; so, of course, we were congenial spirits. He was twenty, I was fifteen, and I had no hesitation in appropriating his visits to myself. In the foolishness of my foolish heart, I no doubt put on airs. Indeed, my brother often assured me that I needed taking down a peg. Alas! The taking down came soon enough. Read More