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Show A HOME IN TIPPERARY. (By "William J. Delany.) 1. She sits beside her spinning wheel. As noon accents the Summer day; Her eyes are on the rock and reel. Her memories are far away From this old Irish homestead dear. And yonder fields of ripening grain, A loved voice whispers in her ear A voice she may not hear again. II. If youth lives in the future days. Age dwells within a haunted past. O'er one the sunrise casts its rays And tears upon her old hands fall A voice, which sounds so faint and low. She hears the sweet word "Mother" call, As oft she heard it years ago. in. She looks beyond the open door. Her thoughts are murmured in a sigh, The shadows lengthen on the floor, And laughing children, trooping by. Free from the school's restraint, rejoice; re-joice; And in the dead past days again She lives:: and listens for the voice She loved so well; and lists in vain. IV. How silent seems that cabin homo. The school house door is open wide. Those youth-crowned, happy scholars come, As sunbeams o'er the meadows glide. Intent she listens for the feet To pause and enter at her door. She measures time in each heart brat She wakes,- alas! they come no more. V. The sounds, which on her old ears fall The music in the linnet's tone, The whispering Summer winds recall The one beloved, who left her lone. The songs she sang when night brought rest. She often in the stillness hears; Yet solace summon to her breast, E'en if their echo summons tears. VI. Her Mary of the soft brown hair. And truthful eyes, remembered still As when she lisped her nightly prayer Beside her knee. 'Twas God's good will That she should seek a distant goal Far, far beyond the ocean's foam, With fearless heart and stainless soul, To help the mother loved at' home'. ,VII. The evening shadows fall upon That vale where Anner water flow; The rugged crest of Slievenamon Still sentinels the home below. The white thorn-scented old boreen; The lilac blossoms drooping low The beechen foliage between She sees them as in long ago. VIII. As last she saw her long ago. She sees the face remembered well The parting, when she murmured low A blessing in the word "Farewell!" As one unsteady arm enfolds The form beloved. She can endure Much sorrow; for she knows she holds The whiteness of her soul still pure! IX. The whiteness of her soul unstained She holds, fond mother far. away; Her love of virtue, still retained, Her guide thro'. life from day, to day. Know thou no blush of shame may flush Her cheeks or brow: but full accord Of praise from honest lips may rush For days well spent this her reward. X. " She kneels beside her spinning wheel. Her thoughts have wandered far away. The shadows of the evening steal Across the floor she kneels to pray. A mother's heart breathes in each tone, Full of the pathos, which may flow But. from a'mothefs Hps alone "Core of my hprt!"V she whispers low. ' . - - i |