Tempo:
LOVE AND ITS HIDDEN HISTORY.
thesis to a consumptive for physic, administer fluxions to a woman in love, give a dose of Euclid to the man that’s just left his wife. “ Bah ! ” one year of love, even “ ignorant” love, is worth all the “ intellect” this side of Jupiter in its effect upon the soul and destiny of man or woman.
Intellect was given as a guide to life.
Love is life itself, and we feel ten times happier at a concert, ball, opera, “ love feast,” or “ prayer-meeting,” than while listening to the grandest intellectual demonstrations this side of Orion.
We
will probe the matter deeper by and by; meantime consider me an advocate of the rights of women, and those of men likewise. The Street-Walker. Of all God’s creation the most pitiful
v<9biect. O
N
Of aW God’s creation the most sorry and most sacred object. Of all beffrgs made in the divine likeness, given a sense of immortality, an eye for the stars of midnight and the sun at noon, an ear for the murm ur of the spring, and the deep cry of the mighty sea, rocked babe of the Great Mother, given a voice for the utterance of the things of t?be heart, the one only whose eyes are never turned to heaven,\whose ears are sealed to the spheral sounds, whose voice, untunecd? rattles over a dry bed. Of all a little lower than the\ angels, the one only that wants the death of any brute.
The only dine our Father help her ! that
would have no flowers pointing with fragrance to her grave, no stone to stay the stranger’s heel frcftm trampling down her dust. Only to lie quietly, never to wake whe n this is over. The street-walker haunts all the place's of men. its
walls so high that they
The city, with
veil the^ face of ■ the sun, with
stones that never cry out, and mingled sounds that drown the still small voice, is her only home. scene, now and then.
She has a^ memory of another
While it is light, and she"lurks in her covert,
shrinking from the searching eye of day, it sometimes crosses her mind, a still and peaceful land, cape, fields,Tburook;V white church, a cottage with the vines about it, and there, under . trees before the door, with the sunset touching his thin face with glory, and the pleasant air blowing through his white hair, an old man fondling a child upon his knee, a child whose large eyes are turned trustful and truthful into liis,, and whose golden tresses embrace his neck. fire!
But she curses this vision, and drowns it with . * *
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•
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,
*
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thesis to a consumptive for physic, administer fluxions to a woman in love, give a dose of Euclid to the man that’s just left his wife. “ Bah ! ” one year of love, even “ ignorant” love, is worth all the “ intellect” this side of Jupiter in its effect upon the soul and destiny of man or woman.
Intellect was given as a guide to life.
Love is life itself, and we feel ten times happier at a concert, ball, opera, “ love feast,” or “ prayer-meeting,” than while listening to the grandest intellectual demonstrations this side of Orion.
We
will probe the matter deeper by and by; meantime consider me an advocate of the rights of women, and those of men likewise. The Street-Walker. Of all God’s creation the most pitiful
v<9biect. O
N
Of aW God’s creation the most sorry and most sacred object. Of all beffrgs made in the divine likeness, given a sense of immortality, an eye for the stars of midnight and the sun at noon, an ear for the murm ur of the spring, and the deep cry of the mighty sea, rocked babe of the Great Mother, given a voice for the utterance of the things of t?be heart, the one only whose eyes are never turned to heaven,\whose ears are sealed to the spheral sounds, whose voice, untunecd? rattles over a dry bed. Of all a little lower than the\ angels, the one only that wants the death of any brute.
The only dine our Father help her ! that
would have no flowers pointing with fragrance to her grave, no stone to stay the stranger’s heel frcftm trampling down her dust. Only to lie quietly, never to wake whe n this is over. The street-walker haunts all the place's of men. its
walls so high that they
The city, with
veil the^ face of ■ the sun, with
stones that never cry out, and mingled sounds that drown the still small voice, is her only home. scene, now and then.
She has a^ memory of another
While it is light, and she"lurks in her covert,
shrinking from the searching eye of day, it sometimes crosses her mind, a still and peaceful land, cape, fields,Tburook;V white church, a cottage with the vines about it, and there, under . trees before the door, with the sunset touching his thin face with glory, and the pleasant air blowing through his white hair, an old man fondling a child upon his knee, a child whose large eyes are turned trustful and truthful into liis,, and whose golden tresses embrace his neck. fire!
But she curses this vision, and drowns it with . * *
. •
•
\
#
,
*
.#
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