Mower County Transcript

GRANDMOTHER'S COTTAGE.

In the fair fresh mornings years ago,
When the world was good to see,
When earth seemed a little heaven below,
And youth was a joy to me;
When friends were real and love was true,
And life was sweet to the core,
What beautiful morning glories grew
At grandmother's cottage door.

I can smell the fragrance of roses red,
And of mint as the soft winds pass,
While the dew like a web of jewels is spread
All over the crowding grass.
The pink sands love in her fragrant way,
And the robins chirp as of yore,
When the morning glories in rich array
Clung close to the cottage door.

The cottage was old and small and quaint
A picture without and within:
The coating of age was its only paint,
And moss hid its shingles thin:
Its windows twinkled under the eaves
With the laughter of light they wore,
And the morning glories with dancing leaves
Laughed back from the cottage door.

And grandmother, too, like her house, was old,
But the burdens of love and care
Had changed the dress of her life to gold,
Until she was angel fair;
Like the glories, her heart at the morning hour
Unclosed to the sad and poor,
She was symbol and queen of the dainty flower
That grew at her cottage door.

Oh! many and many a year, the sod
Has greened over grandmother's grave:
She went like a little child to God—
Her soul was so pure and brave;
But I know, though Heaven's gardens be fair to view,
She remembered the days of yore,
And the morning glories she loved that grew
Round the dear old cottage door.

—N. Y. Graphic.