Spirit of the age. [volume] (Raleigh, N.C.) 1849-1865, 1863-06-29
An Hour.

an Hour.
An hour, what is it? 4 speck in i'm
mensity a drop in the boundless ocean 6f
Time; a grain of sand upon the lmmeasura-
BILE shore of Eternity. And yet, what may
not an hour bring forth what untold conse-
quences may hang upon its very briefness.-
In its narrow limits Imagination often spurns
the earth, and on fancy's magic wings min
giles with the distant skies.
How we remember and cherish the hour
in which we heard some sweet sound that
filled our ears with melody, and made our
souls obliVious to all else. The impress of
hat hour Is forever engraved upon the i'm
perlshable tablets of the soul, for it was the
nurse Of loves and glory's lofty dream.
Could tongue translate the soul, or words
arrest what flashes through the mind, what
a strangely interesting volume would an hour
make. Why is that fair young face bowed
down with sorrow Why so pensive and
sad? Why is that heavenly music, which
seems to melt along the distant sky, and
wrap the whole soul of the listener in its
soothing melody, so entirely 6isregarded p
Why has the sound Of mirth, which once
MADE the soul bound with Joy, ceased to
please? Ask the leaden- footed hour. when
th"t young heart ceased to weave Homes flat.
tering web, and it will tell you Way. Tt
will tell you what the world of language is,
which is expressed in the small COMPASS Of
those compressed and meningitis, and which
is almost told in those calm but speaking
eyes. .
Long years have wheeled their busy rounds.
The work of that hour, long since gone by,
has faded the roses from those withered and
yellow cheeks; the wanderer has returned
once more and stands entranced in the place
where be was awakened from his fresh Young
dreams, to realize a sense Of the worlds JUS
tlce. Yes, returned once more palsy smit-
ten, and III that last sad stage OF human mfr
nifty, second-childhood. That object is the
wreck of youthful beauty. IT'S the work Of
an hour, which long years have been busy in
writing out on the pages Of life. Oh, unre-
Ientlag world :, Sc. Sc t4 sasot tbe the Siet TSGn # tS thy
hast made, and reiuEenate II, if thou canst
With a show r " .I }c4s~4 reserved tears
That premature second childhood thy in
justice has brought upon the object Of thy
d~erision, has no kind mother IN whose lap Il
lay its head and weep away its sorrows, fo
its mother is thy cruel u~nkindness withere
and forsaken, a strangers hand will perform
that last act OF kindness, not as d kindness
indeed, but IS u necessity, and hide tina
wreck thou hast made, from thy sight, in tn
cold grave, uuwept, unfonored and forgot
ten. Yes, the poor victim ofthy frigid shu
fling prudence, has crossed the " bridge {
sighs," and is now far beyond the reach
thy pity. Weep if thou wilt, not for tn
victim, but for thyself, for it may be the hot
that viii set thy heart right again, toward
others who need thy sympathy and tn
kindness. Let no pre-co0ceived idea, know
by the hateful tame Of prejudice, harden til
heart against the generous impulses Of Il
hour in which it unconsciously steals ava
in sympathy towards thy erring fellowma
I for its generous instincts are far better guid
{ to thine own happiness and bis than thy col
: inievible, errlng judgment.
Is there not III hour i. the measure of tt
years, dear reader, around which memo,
!, gathers her richest and choicest treasures q?
! An hour 10 which their recollection tenac
I ously and fondiy elin8s, and which seems
: have been fraught with thy whole earth
5 happiness. The decision Of the hour "
Z made long ago has it brought thee the M
. sure Of thy expected joy, CT las the Grief a
l sorrow it brought to thy heart mellowed il
:, q sadmemory? There IS yet another fraug
u with greater consequences to thee than til
? hast ever known; it is the hour when G
u says to man, Thy work is finished" II
As the finite mind is overwhelmed and lost
; its contemplation, and shriuks trombl
y away.