De La Salle Fifth Reader Part 33

_52_

man' i fold do mes' tic pet' tish ly in grat' i tude

MY MOTHER'S GRAVE.

It was thirteen years since my mother's death, when, after a long absence from my native village, I stood beside the sacred mound beneath which I had seen her buried. Since that mournful period, a great change had come over me. My childish years had pa.s.sed away, and with them my youthful character. The world was altered, too; and as I stood at my mother's grave, I could hardly realize that I was the same thoughtless, happy creature, whose cheeks she so often kissed in an excess of tenderness.

But the varied events of thirteen years had not effaced the remembrance of that mother's smile. It seemed as if I had seen her but yesterday--as if the blessed sound of her well-remembered voice was in my ear. The gay dreams of my infancy and childhood were brought back so distinctly to my mind that, had it not been for one bitter recollection, the tears I shed would have been gentle and refres.h.i.+ng.

The circ.u.mstance may seem a trifling one, but the thought of it now pains my heart; and I relate it, that those children who have parents to love them may learn to value them as they ought.

My mother had been ill a long time, and I had become so accustomed to her pale face and weak voice, that I was not frightened at them, as children usually are. At first, it is true, I sobbed violently; but when, day after day, I returned from school, and found her the same, I began to believe she would always be spared to me; but they told me she would die.

One day when I had lost my place in the cla.s.s, I came home discouraged and fretful. I went to my mother's chamber. She was paler than usual, but she met me with the same affectionate smile that always welcomed my return. Alas! when I look back through the lapse of thirteen years, I think my heart must have been stone not to have been melted by it. She requested me to go downstairs and bring her a gla.s.s of water. I pettishly asked her why she did not call a domestic to do it. With a look of mild reproach, which I shall never forget if I live to be a hundred years old, she said, "Will not my daughter bring a gla.s.s of water for her poor, sick mother?"

I went and brought her the water, but I did not do it kindly. Instead of smiling, and kissing her as I had been wont to do, I set the gla.s.s down very quickly, and left the room. After playing a short time, I went to bed without bidding my mother good night; but when alone in my room, in darkness and silence, I remembered how pale she looked, and how her voice trembled when she said, "Will not my daughter bring a gla.s.s of water for her poor, sick mother?" I could not sleep. I stole into her chamber to ask forgiveness. She had sunk into an easy slumber, and they told me I must not waken her.

I did not tell anyone what troubled me, but stole back to my bed, resolved to rise early in the morning and tell her how sorry I was for my conduct. The sun was s.h.i.+ning brightly when I awoke, and, hurrying on my clothes, I hastened to my mother's chamber. She was dead! She never spoke more--never smiled upon me again; and when I touched the hand that used to rest upon my head in blessing, it was so cold that it made me start.

I bowed down by her side, and sobbed in the bitterness of my heart. I then wished that I might die, and be buried with her; and, old as I now am, I would give worlds, were they mine to give, could my mother but have lived to tell me she forgave my childish ingrat.i.tude. But I cannot call her back; and when I stand by her grave, and whenever I think of her manifold kindness, the memory of that reproachful look she gave me will bite like a serpent and sting like an adder.

Memory Gem:

"But O for the touch of a vanished hand, And the sound of a voice that is still!"

_53_

chide be dewed'

em balmed'

be tide'

lin' gered wor' s.h.i.+ped

THE OLD ARM-CHAIR.

I love it, I love it; and who shall dare To chide me for loving that old Arm-chair?

I've treasured it long as a sainted prize; I've bedewed it with tears, and embalmed it with sighs.

'Tis bound by a thousand bands to my heart; Not a tie will break, not a link will start.

Would ye learn the spell?--a mother sat there!

And a sacred thing is that old Arm-chair.

In Childhood's hour I lingered near The hallowed seat with listening ear; And gentle words that mother would give, To fit me to die, and teach me to live.

She told me that shame would never betide, With truth for my creed and G.o.d for my guide; She taught me to lisp my earliest prayer, As I knelt beside that old Arm-chair.

I sat and watched her many a day, When her eye grew dim and her locks were gray; And I almost wors.h.i.+ped her when she smiled, And turned from her Bible to bless her child.

Years rolled on; but the last one sped-- My idol was shattered; my earth-star fled: I learned how much the heart can bear, When I saw her die in that old Arm-chair.

'Tis past, 'tis past, but I gaze on it now With quivering breath and throbbing brow: 'Twas there she nursed me; 'twas there she died; And Memory flows with lava tide.

Say it is folly, and deem me weak, While the scalding drops start down my cheek; But I love it, I love it; and cannot tear My soul from a mother's old Arm-chair.

_Eliza Cook._

SPELL, a verse or phrase or word supposed to have magical power; a charm.

HALLOWED, made holy.

HOLLOWED, made a hole out of; made hollow. Use these two words in sentences of your own.

What is meant by "Memory flows with lava tide?"

Write a two-paragraph description of an old arm-chair. Your imagination will furnish you with all needed details.

Divide the following words into their syllables, and mark the accented syllable of each:

absurd, every, nature, mature, leisure, valuable, safety, again, virtue, ancient, weather, history, poetry, mother, genuine, earliest, fatigued, business.

The dictionary will aid you.