Eastern times. [volume] (Bath, Me.) 1846-1857, 1854-02-16
Milstella.nog
Winter.


Winter is here-Jeremy DesolateA win
teri and the white fields are shiveriRg in the
sunlight-the old woods are solemn and sid
the voices of the air are hushed, and quiet,
save the moan of the wind, tells US that ma
ture is passing through the dark valley, typi-
cal Of death. We know that she will burst
the stern letters, and rising from her sleep,
shall laugh again with infant glee in all her
brooks; and spreading her motherly arms
over the earth, will shower with paternal lib
crafty her treasures into our laps once more.
Yet still we feel her silence-we are sad be-
cause of her desolation.
Winter is here-Jeremy The long nights
have come--the long dark winter nights and
we draw the heavy curtains, and sit down in
our warm parlors, carelessly to ponder and to
dream. The light has gone out of the starry
skies which bended over us in our youth, and
the dun clouds surge up from the horison, and
grow heavier and blacker as we muse-the
Present is dreary We turn back with mem
ory, and all over the Past we wander We
remember the snug cottage nestled in the hills
the cracking faggots on the old hearth
stone-they have their young vivacity now,
and the whole picture of our youthful home in
this beautiful cloud-land rises gradually and
expands before US. Faces all rosy with the
light of the Immortals appear and vanish
bright wings of angels flash and fade to the
vlpXU-aDd tho Scpnn cmnllS to nur unantal
vision, the old familiar tones of the old IA
miliar lips ring out their silver syllables
again. We listen to the joyous langh, as to
the gushing of music, and almost feel the
presence of soft hands in ours. The glad,
beaming face of the young creature we first
worshipped,. with all the innocence of loves
first delusion, sparkles with the radiant beau
ty of those happy hours. The mother in that
quiet chamber, with the dim lamp and the
snowy curtains cleaning out from the corner,
where we knelt at her side and uttered the
evening prayer, lifts her white hands to our
brow again, and says, God bless and keep
thee, my boy!' God help US now-how have
we wandered since our souls felt that earnest
benediction! .......
Winter is here and the long, stormy nights
have come, Jeremy-the nights of dread and
desolation TO the poor. The roar of the tenn
pest has the voice of demon out there Do
the moan and the howl, which sound so fear
fully now, stir in the heart thought of the
perishing ones, who in the midst of this splen-
did city, sit shivering, ragged, and starved !
The pale brow and the hollow eye of the CON
sumptive mother, sitting desolate amid her
famishing ones, grow paler and sadder as the
storm rolls on /! Does her low wall of agony
reach the ears Of angels to night If not
God help her
Scores Of Christian churches stand grandly
pest They are tenantless, now, of the rosy
lips and bright eyes which have looked ap-
pealingly to Heaven, and muttered prayers TO
the poor. Are willing hands employed to-
night in confirmation of the Sundays sinceri-
tyl Or do cards, the piano, or the dance,
lend a sorry confirmation OF the utter hollow
ness of wordst Are all the wealth and
splendor Of Gothic steeples and stained glass
the majestic column-the lordly porch, and
the sweeping aisle, but the magnifcence of
delusion 1-mere monuments of the wickedness
of man endeavoring to cheat the Creator with
tinsel-with show, not worth-with words,
not deeds God help the homeless, Jeremy,
where this is trne; And help the disciple,
too, who prays, but never thinks God bless
the humble Christian, who labors and cares
for THE POOR &c. r. GrGi0ni