The New era. [volume] (Martinsburg, W. Va.) 1865-1871, 1866-12-13

The LAST MoNrH.-The life of Old
1866 is past the "sear and yellow leaf,"
and fast nearing the Winter of Death.
Soon he will draw the drapery of his
icy couch about him and lie down in
endless sleep. The sands of his life
are almost run. This is the last month
OF his allotted time, and it partly gone.
How swiftly, as an arrow from a strong
bow, it has flown! How rapidly the
days, like chariots laden with the tro-
phies Of victory, have swept by! 1t
seems but yesterday that we stood at
the portals of the year, now so near its
close, or kneeling at our affairs thanked
our God that the light of a New Year
had dawned upon the tents of our pill
grimage. It seems as though but a
single forward step has been taken, for
the shrines of the New Years day are
still in sight-but still it is the real fact
that we have journeyed long distance,
and are many days Of toilsome travel
nearer home than when the year began.
We have mounted many a hill Of Diff
Guilty, rested at many wayside Inn of
Content, drank of many bitter pool
of Sorrow-upon which we shall never
look-oyer which we shall never toll
at which we shall never kneel again.
We have passed on our journey many
a milestone, and plucked old MOSES
from it, beside which we shall never
again pause for rest. We have spoken
sad good-byes to friends whose faces we
shall look upon no more; we have
smiled at bridals whose pealing anthems
of rejoicing we shall never hear again ;
we haze stood at graves, and laid dear
ones therein, whose feet will never walk
again the green paths of earth, and
whose sunny smiles will never again
cheer our dropping spirits.
But in the year SO swiftly going, thus
strewing life with shadows, have we not
gathered, here and there, clusters of
pleasant fruit by the way in which we
journeyed? Have we not bound leaves
Of healing with the cypress wreath and
sometimes found pearls in the bottom
of our cups of sorrow?
All, yes. no life is wholly dark
there are flowers as we'll as brambles in
every garden-there are joys and vic
tories as we'll as griefs and defeats in
every experience. And to-day, look
ing backward, though we see desolate
places here and there, we see also pleas
ant hooks where we have loitered, and
'.golden epochs' whose glory crowned
us with halo. Therefore let us be
content.
The days passive grow old-threads
of russell hue are woven into the wool
of life-silvery hair lie upon our fore
heads-staf and crutch become familiar
companions-our eyes grow dim and we
see but little way ahead; but the days
in passing ripcn us for heaven; the
russell thread and silvery hair win for
us homage and respect-the crutch aud
staff help US, weary pilgrims, to the
home that awaits us; and on our dim
eyes we know new light shall come,
and behind the narrowing sky there is
Better Land, where staff and crutch,
and the ills Of old age, and the soiled
vesture wherein the immortal soul was
wrapped for a brief day, shall all be
put away forever,
Why, not, therefore, may we not re-
joice as we walk, and be happy in the
thought that, whatever evil fortune may
befall us, there is something in Gods
providence compensation for it all.
--@.Gr-o-He-----
| MARBIEp.=On Tuesday morning