Along the path I've yet to roam; The mind, that burns within me, And pure smiles from thee at home. Thus, when the lamp that lighted The traveler, at first goes out He feels awhile benighted And looks round in fear and doubt. But soon, the prospect clearing, By cloudless star-light on he treads, And thinks no lamp so cheering As that light which heaven sheds! THE OLD CHURCH BELL. W. H. SPARKS. [The following note accompanied the copy of the poem found among Colonel Spark's papers, says the Atlanta Constitution: "After an absence of thirty years, I visited my native village, Eatonton, Putnam county, Ga., and sojourned for a week in the hospitable home of my boyhood's friend, Edmund Reid. On Sabbath morning, whilst alone in my bed-room, the old church bell commenced to ring. My heart was touched, and tears flooded my eyes. The tones were familiar as though I had heard them every Sunday during all that lapse of intervening time. With my pencil I wrote these lines in a small memorandum book which I carried in my pocket: "] Ring on, ring on, sweet Sabbath bell; In melody upon mine ear; In those dear days, long past and gone, The magic of thy Sabbath tone Awoke emotions deep in me. Long years have gone and I have strayed THE OLD CHURCH BELL. When strolling o'er the mighty plains, Upon the rocky mountain crest, Where Christian feet have never trod, In the deep bosom of the West I've thought of thee and worshiped God; Ring on, sweet bell! I've come again To hear thy cherished call to prayer, There's less of pleasure, now, than pain In those dear tones which fill my ear. Ring on, ring on, dear bell, ring on! Once more I've come with whitened head Give ear to thee, sweet Sabbath bell! -Eatonton, Ga., May 18, 1856. 81 SAD. A SHORT TALE IN SHORT WORDS. W. S. F. ID you hear that sound of woe, As that fair one's soul was freed. Or sigh from him who did the deed? Ah, see that smile of joy and rest, Now as she draws her last short breath, E'en while she tastes the cup of death. Nor go to see the poor lone hearse And grave of her with whom all's well But turn now to a scene more fair, SAD. He twines a rose wreath in her hair, She smiles on him through all the day. They wed; and as the years sped on, A dark cloud came and o'er them hung; The deeds of wrong which he has done, Rum is the cause of all the shame That holds him now with bands of steel, And when the stern Seer laid a claim But she is freed from all her woes While he must still go down and down Frail words cannot speak all the truth, To take with him this sin-wild youth. 83 |