Fremont journal. [volume] (Fremont, Sandusky County [Ohio]) 1853-1866, 1860-03-30
For the Fremont Journal.
THE FLIGHT OF THE SEASONS.

WIN HtI otehln sue tlNWs tne knOW-Dank6t
Clears the ice from out the stresmlets,
Sends the rabbit to the Forest
Changes the dark robe Of Creation,
To brighter and greener:
Scatters over all the meadows,
Bright, fresh flowers Of every hue.
Some are bright, and Others darker,
Yes, they nre Of every color:
Some are like the sky at sunset,
Some are painted like the Rainbow,
Some are like the stars at midnight;
They bloom on mountains, and in valleys,
By the roadside, and the by-path,
And the groups of happy children,
As they merrily them do gather
Think the angels them do scatter;
And they listen for their voices
And they listen, listen, listen,
Till they think they hear them whisper.
But although they never hear them,
Yet they say they are the whisperings
or the angels,-but afar OFT
And the flowers they say, are letters,
Letters of the little angels
Though they seldom come to read them,
For their homes high in Heaven.
Once they came, twas when the spring died,
Then the flowers they came to gather:
These they said their Father needed
Needed them, to sprinkle DER the white throne
And the golden streets of Heaven.
Then Summer comes, with pleasant voices,
And with merry laughing sunshine
And with mpid gurgliag streamlets;
With her smiles she the angels,
Makes them leave some flowers behind them,
And when they are just departing,
Fans their brows with gentle breezes,
Tosses her sunny hair in triumph,
As she the angels going
Going to their home in Heaven;
With white roses.scattered DER them,
Tuning their harps to streamlets music,
To the birds in wavy branches
Way up on the highest branches.
And the roaring of Old Ocean,
Always roaring, never resting:
Howling oer the graves Of those
Who are sleeping meath its waters,
Who have perished, who have gone down,
Gone to the land of ghosts and shadows.
Then comes melancholy Autumn,
Comes with sad and mournful whisperings,
Mourning for departed Summer.
Though it's sad yet it is lovely
For she brings the golden harvest,
And bright fields of waving grain,
Waving beckoning, like to loving sisters:
And the woods are changed to crimson,
To bright crimson, and bright yellow,
And the boughs are heavy laden,
Aud the brown shells they are bursting
Changed to the dress of fairest children,
Changed to lighter, and to warmer,-
And while men their harvests gather
They are busy with their harvestsi
Thankful for their Fathers kinkness.
Who was it that taught them, learned them,
Thust gather in their stores?
wasit the God of chancel
Mott was the God of Nature,
Twas the God we see in all things.
All the air is heavy laden
With the laughter of earths children
OF her many happy children;
And the streams galy singing,
Always singing, never ceasing,
Ever wild, and ever free
And the blue sky bends above them,
And reflects their sparkling faces,
In its clear unclouded b,ueness,
All reflected, but the murmurngs,
But the whisperings of the streamlets,
And their lispings are SO low,
That not often you can hear them;
Though by listening, you sometimes
Hear them talking talking, talking,
And they always speak in this way:-
81 am going on toj join my sisters,
Cherished sisters, gone before"
And the red leaves they are dropping,
Dropping of from all the branches,
Twirling from the highest branches;
And when they are slowly falling,
They do whisper dying, dying;
Though my home now is in this world,
Never go to a higher
And the flowers, too, they are passing,
Quickly passing, like dream of light, and love,
Like bright thoughts of happy childhood,
Passing passing, to the dim oblivous shore,
Passing to that far mysterious shore;
And birds of sadness hover near US,
Hover or us, hover round us,
Singing mournfully, their last songs,
Singing plaintive'y, their farewells.
Thus all is changng;-but the streamlet,
But the happy, laughing streamlet,-
Flowing on, still warbling always,
Sounding like distant fairy music
Like the music which we dream Of
Like the voices ofthe angels
All is passing, surely passing
To its long home, to its dark home,
Fleetug, fitting like the sunshine:
Natures beating pulse is ceasing,
For her life blood it is wasting,
The bloom upon her cheek is waning,
She is dying, she is slumbering,-
stilly sumberlng, till the voice offspring shall call
TIL the flowers her breath shall welcome.
Like the passing flowers ofspring-time,
Like the shadows of the MONDAY,
Like the falling of the scar leaves,
Is the heeting life Of mani
Though in childhood he is happy,
Yet with years there cometh sorrow,
And his heart it groweth sadder.
Year after year the works Of nature
Die, and dreamless are their slumbers,
And the West Wind sings requiem
Through the dead leaves sings a requiem
Youth is always bright and joyous,
And is like the bird in spring-tme;
Manhood It is like the blossom,
Though II looketh bright and pleasant,
Yet do dark clouds DER II gather
And old age is like the brown leaf,
Like the withered leaf in Autumn,
Man dieth and goeth 70 his home,
To his last home, to his long home:
Leaves his friends and home behind him.
Goeth where the whispering angels call him,
And God sonndeth the heavenly trumpet,
soundeth the trumpet which shall call US,
From this dark world to a brighter
Goeth where the sun is Gods light:
And the stars are the lamps Of the angels.
PRoPosED LAKE EXCURSION TO CHI
eo.-The Cleveland Leader says the Oh,
man of the Ohio Delegation is in nego
ton with Capt. Perkins, of the West,
Metropolis, with a view of procuring Il