Portage Sentinel

With a tear, perhaps with a sigh, to part
But the heart feels most when the lips move not
And the eye speaks the gentle Good-Bye!

Farewell, Farewell, is never heard
When the tear's in the mother's eye;
Adieu, Adieu, she speaks it not in verse:--
But my love, Good-Bye! Good-Bye!

Ministering Angels.

A fair young girl sat by the shrouded form of her departed mother; tears of anguish, unsolaced by one bright hope for the future, clouded a face cast in nature's finest mould. Her only earthly protector had been taken from her, and she, in her innocent girlhood must guard and support the young brothers and sisters left, with no hand but hers to guide them in the uncertain future. What wonder that her heart sunk within her, and that hope waned till its last faint shadow disappeared in the thick darkness which, to her, seemed impenetrable. She was very beautiful, that pale, sad watcher, and the waves of sorrow rolling over her, seemed about to swallow up in their bitter waters, the frail form which enshrined a pure, and energetic spirit.

Gradually sorrow for the dead gave place to anxiety for the living, and the brow of the mourner became clouded with a worldly care. Suddenly a smile brightened her face as a flood of sunlight irradiates the young morning,--she knew not that she was touched by an angel's passing wing. 'Ah! yes,' she murmured, 'for the sake of the dear ones who are now dependent on me for protection, I will strive to hush this great sorrow and live only for my God and them. Surely my angel mother will watch over me and strengthen this holy resolution.' Thereby the bedside of the departed, that young girl nerved her heart to the performance of duty, and in after years no murmurs escaped her lips, however severely tried. Cheerfulness sat enthroned within her heart, angels ministered to her wants, and mortals wondered that one burdened with so many cares could smile so sweetly.

A child sat playing midst the flowers, his golden curls danced in the sun-light and his blue eyes were merry with happiness of careless childhood; but suddenly an air of thoughtfulness rested on his childish brow. Whence came this beautiful world! yonder brilliant planets! the bright flowers and glittering dew-drops!--his own tiny form with its wonderful machinery, his beating heart and power of vision, oh! who would tell him of these undeveloped mysteries!' A low voice seemed whispering 'all things are of God and he is good.' Ministering angels were around him, throwing a bright halo around a heart that was to be powerful for good or evil.

A sublime realization of the beautiful, chastened into purity the days of his boyhood, and strengthening as he was ushered into manhood, restrained him from wrong doing. He knew not, and others thought not, when listening to words of burning eloquence from his lips, that unseen spirits threw around him an irresistible influence, thus guarded by his faithful watchers, and through their magic power he assimilated many hearts to his own likeness. Minds there were, so wrapped up in materiality that they could not understand and appreciate his more spiritual nature, yet still he toiled on unheeding alike the assaults of ignorance and the cold rebuffs of indifference.

A middle-aged man sat at his desk, his head leaning on his hand, while troubled thoughts swelled his heart almost to bursting. He was on the eve of bankruptcy. Misfortune had followed misfortune, till ruin seemed inevitable. How could he endure the misery of seeing his family suddenly reduced to poverty? How break to his wife intelligence so distressing? And infinitely more painful than all, how would the dear ones so tenderly nurtured, bear this reverse of fortune?' A happy thought occurred to him and illuminated his face with the cheering beams of hope. Why should he distrust the affections of those who had ever proved themselves true? Acting upon the impulse of the moment his cares were confided to his family and by their united efforts his falling fortunes were retrieved. He knew not that guardian angels hovered around, beckoning him away from the brink of the pit he had prepared for himself.

A poetess sat writing out her pleasant day-dreams on a fair page before her, never thinking that angelic beings inspired in her heart the pure and beautiful thoughts that were charming the poetical world, and rendering her own life a fairy picture; and wondering admirers read on without ever suspecting they were drinking in the inspiration of a higher and better sphere, though their hearts were none the less affected by its deep purity.

A young mother sat watching her sleeping babe--it was her first-born, and hopes, bright anticipations of the future around it clustered all a mother's fond visions of virtue and greatness of her child, swelled her bosom with pleasant emotions. Alas! for her visions of glory! she know not that fame is purchased only by unceasing toil, and is ever unsatisfactory to the longings of the human heart. As she gazed with increasing fondness on the sleeping babe, its face wreathed into a sunny smile; even then it was touched by an angel's passing wing. But a few days and that sweet child was ripened for the tomb, and the angel that had watched its brief sojourn on earth, bore its freed spirit in the home prepared for the redeemed and purified.

A while the mother mourned as one that would not be comforted but gradually she came to think of her child as not dead, but living! in the bright but dimly defined future and with beautiful resignation exclaimed: 'Not my will, but thine. O God, be done!'--Universalum.