Godey's Lady's Book 1844-01: Vol 28 Iss 1
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THE ARM CHAIR.—SONG. 9 mingled with my better feelings. But Lizzie was one of those happy creatures whom Love renovates faster than Time can despoil. Her person had ac- quired a noble fulness, without losing the slightest portion of its grace, and her face was as radiant in its fresh beauty as if she had numbered only weeks instead of years, during the latter half of her life. She showed me her three children, fat, chubby little creatures, full of life and animal spirits, as all healthy children should be, and the pride which sparkled in her eye left me in no doubt as to her maternal feelings. She spoke of her husband with a degree of enthusiasm, which charmed me, and, when he entered, and I saw the bright heart-beam which flashed over her face, as she looked upon him, I readily acknowledged in my own soul that Frank had proved a true seer. Love had wrought
THE ARM ; out his mighty work,—the beautiful statue had been vivified by his touch, and the heart which had so long slumbered in quiet apathy, now throbbed with the firm, strong, healthful pulsations of self-forget- ting and devoted womanly tenderness. Lizzie still lives in comfort and affluence, the idol of her husband, the beloved of her children, admired and esteemed by all who know her, and affording by her daily life, a beautiful testimonial of Love's magic. Reader, there are hundreds of women who live and die with energies but half awakened, and cha- racters but half developed. The oracle within their souls is dumb, or only utters those unintelligible words which require the interpretation of the pro- phet voice of Love or Sorrow ere they can be fully understood. DOP OOF Hee —<_ CHAIR. BY MRS. 8. J. HALE. (See Plate.) THERE’s pleasure in the humblest home, If childhood’s smile is there, And comfort in the lowliest room, Where stands an old Arm Chair ,— We know that Hope, with heaven-bright flame, Hath warm’d the mother’s breast ; We know the father’s toil-worn frame Hath found a place of rest; Bright visions of the household band, Of love, and faith, and prayer, Heart joined with heart, and hand with hand, Surround the old Arm Chair. But childhood’s happy grace can give A charm to homes most fair, And wealth, if wise, will never live Without his good Arm Chair ;— It is a throne of holy power, If hearts of love surround, A refuge in the world-sick hour, Where soothing dreams are found ;— What nerves the care-bow’d man with strength, Life’s battle field to dare ? That he and his may rest at length, Within a good Arm Chair. The monarch, on his golden throne, Of hundred kings the heir, Can he, as man, compare with one Who wins his good Arm Chair? With willing hand and open mind, Looks up, clear-eyed, to heaven, Strong, pure, and free as mountain wind, And kind as dews of even? Ay, such the man that God hath bless’d, Whom angels guard with care, He’ll rest, and see his lov’d ones rest, Within his own Arm Chair! rr PODS BODE 2 SONG, BY C. FENNO HOFFMAN. I asx not what shadow came over her heart, In the moment I thought her my own— If love in that moment could really depart, I mourn not such love when ’tis flown! I ask not what shadow came over her then, What doubt did her bosom appal, For I know where her heart will turn truly again, If it ever turned truly at all! ; It is not at once that the reed-bird takes wing, 2 When the tide rises high round her nest, ; But again and again, floating back, she will sing 3 O’er the spot where her bove-treasures rest: $ And oh, when the surge of distrust would invade, ; Where the heart hoped forever to dwell, 2 Love long upon loitering pinions is stayed, y Ere his wings waves a mournful farewell. mann
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