The national era. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1847-1860, 1852-01-08
For the National Era.
NOCTEs DIvINORUM.
BY WILLIAM d. GALLAGHER

And still are passing to and fro.
All, wel-a-way and so they may
They do not tell the lie Of life
Night oft is truer than the day
Peace often falser far than strife.
year goes out year comes in:
How swiftly and how still they flee
What mission had the year that's been
What mission hath the year to be
Oh brother man look wisely back,
Along the far and fading days,
And closely scan the crowded track
On which the light Of memory plays.
The friend with whom you took your wine
year ago-whero is he now
The child you almost thought divine,
Such beauty robed its shining brow
The wife upon whose pillowing breast
Misleading doubts and carking care
Were ever gently lull'd 10 rest
Where are they now, my brother-where
In vain you start, and look around!
In vain the involuntary call
The graveyard has an added mound
For wife, or child, or friend-or all.
And downward to the dust with them,
How many garnered hopes have gone
Yet they were those ye thought to stem
The tide of time with, pressing on.
All, hope is such flattering cheat,
We scarce can choose but him believe
We see and feel his bold deceit,
Yet trust him still. to still deceive.
~, 2 "A 1T =. - = "''Y
4 - 1. - , :a9 see -,..
The sunshine. when it brings the storm.
Yon shivering wretch ye see, year
Ago asked aims, the which gave.
She said the world was dark and drear.
And cold yet kindlier than the grave.
She hoped another year would bring
Joys, comforts, friends, not then possessed
And it has brought yon feeble thing
That tugs so at her shrunken breast.
ooh, God she muttors :" In my dream
Last night the wild waves DER me, swept
To-day stood beside tho stream,
But falterod. Would that had eapt
But in its sleep my baby smiled.
kissed it-shuddcred drew
/ loved my child-my brain was Wild
From death to life turn d and few
Why ended not our sorrows then
Why sleep we not beneath the wave2
Forgot of God, despised of men,
That were methinks fitting grave .....
AHA aha The night is cold
- laI 10 bnr
Ye cannot warm this stfened form
With all your skill It's done It's done
1.-THE night is cOld-tho night is dark
And am sister to the night
I'm cold and dark-but hist and bark
And look and see "a sound sight
IT'S well It's well '-ye hear the knell
Of the old year from yon high tower
But not for yc the sight soc
IIa ha he burns in hell this hour"
The wind i. wild that bowls without;
The fire is warm that burns within;
But wilder than the wind without,
And warmer than tho fro within,
Are breast and brain that throb with pain
Where that poor raving wretch is borno:
But ere the day shell pass away
With few to watch, and none to mourn
Oh, bitter night! oh, cruel wind,
That piercest novels through and through
The festive band We rarely find
The poor are always found by you
Show mercy most whore most is sin
In thinnest garb for dOubly bold
Temptation is TO enter in
Where hunger gnaws, and limbs are cold
The eve is gone: nights noon is here
Again in yon high turrct swings
Times iron tongue, that tells the year
Is closing over earthly things.
" Farewell old year: | have no tear
To drop above your icy tomb:
Yo brought to mo much misery,
Aud leave me now in deepest gloom
" Farewell old year yet by your bier
lngor if | will or no
For sorrow tends to link as friends
Those who had hardly else been so.
How often back, along the track
Which you and have YEARLY traced,
My bleeding heart will sadly start
To view again that desert waste
Aha old year you've brought the tear,
In spite of all thought or said:
did not know one still could flow,
So many you have made me shed.
You stiff and stark: you rc gone -. It's darl
Hero where sit and sigh alone.
But wipe the eye-and check the sigh
What he, who hath not sorrow known
Despair may truer BIO than hope;
But hope is mghtier far than he
As rounding up yon starless cope
Even now to-morrows sun | soc,
So hope brings day before tbs day,
And antedates word, or deed,
Or thought, that shall be felt for aye,
And help us in our sorcst need.
All, hope is truer than despair =
What says the iron tongue of timo
From yon old turrct, high in air,
Pealing the centuries march sublime -
Con GIVES 70 MAN ANOTHER YEAR,
WIru HoPE, his FRIEND Borrowed one
Uncloud the brow, dry up the tear,
Joy cometh with the morrow's sun,