Democratic Sentinel, Volume 8, Number 29, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 August 1884 — When Our Ships Come In. [ARTICLE]

When Our Ships Come In.

Long years ago a boy stood at his mother’s knee and asked her for many things, toys, pleasures, pastimes, money to procure them with. “You shall have them all,” said the fond mother, kissing the boy’s upturned face, “when my ship comes in.” But the ship never came in. Y'ears passed; the boy became a man, and the mother, who\ was very sick, sent for him. When he stood by her bedside she looked at him with a faint, sad smile. “My ship is coming in,” she said. Then he knew that she was dying. “It is a beautiful ship,” she whispered, “and it is bringing me every good thing I have missed here. “But it will take you away from me, ” and the strong man wept. Other years passed away, and an old man lay dying. His grandchildren hung about him to soothe his last moments and see that his wants were attended to. They thought he was gone—he lay so silent. At last he opened his eyes and said in a clear, firm voice: “Rest—home heaven—l will have them all when my ship comes in.” “Has he a ship?” asked the children of each other. “It is sailing steadily this way,” said the dying man. “Its sails are white and glistening; the friends of my youth are on its decks of pearl; no rough seas will engulph it; no storms will drive it from its course; my Captain has given His orders; my ship is coming in.” The children saw no white-winged ship or boatman pale. They heard not the dip of the muffled oars, as they bore him away on “the sea that runs around all the world.” We all have ships at sea. To our human eyes some of them were wrecked near shore, By the flow of the'inlanrl river, while some went down in open sea with all their colors flying. They have the choicest treasures for us, but they never come in; friends, dear friends, are voyagers on them; richer stuff than the looms of India produce are m the holds; jewels of fabulous wealth are held in trust there, but are on the faroff sea, and come not to any harbor. We can see the dip of the opal sails; we can discern the beloved crew, but they are ever sailing away, away. “Ship ahoy!” It is the voice of the commander, Death. The ship puts about then and comes near to the white sands of life. It is no unreal phantom ship. It is freighted with youth and love, lost hopes and blessed fruition. Our feet are upon the decks—the white spray envelops us as with a veil; all sail is not for the blessed isles—our ship has come in!— M. Quad. Men who are perpetually engaged in accumulating wealth, without ever allowing themselves time to enjoy it, are like hungry folks who are always cooking without ever sitting down to dine.—> Marie Eschenbach.