The Hancock Jeffersonian. [volume] (Findlay, Ohio) 1857-1870, 1868-01-03
|Yanfotkytfftrsonian.
Office, corner of Main and sandusky streets
Communicated.
The Past.

Communicated.
The Past.
"ih dark are the halls where our ancestor
revelled,
And mute is the harp that eniivene tn,
day;
The towers that they dwelt in are awful,
levelled,
And the signs of their greatness are sunl
in decay"
1t gives q melancholy shade to the
brow of Retrospection for her to
wander amid the ruins of the past
She there sees how human greatness
has become levelled with the dust
how pride, glory, and earthly pomp
have had their fall, never more to
rise-how corroded has become the
anchor of hope.
The halls where our ancestors once
revelled in mirth, gayety and joy,
are now as dark as the tomb--as
dreary as the valley of death, and as
silent as the catacombs Of Egypt
The mansions in which they dwelt
are buried, like those of Herculaneum
and Pompeii, in the ashes and lava
of oblivion and as the once beauti
full cities of Tyre, Sida and Baby.
lon became overspread with the wild
weeds of desolation, SO the dark
wing of oblivion, in an instant, as it
we're, DER shadows the sunny land
scape of lifo- and leavas th0ata -alsAp
in the midnight gloom of fOrgetful-
ness. OF the links that compose
,ur ancestral chain, memory can
count but one or two at the far
hest all beyond is mere matter OF
history, tradition, or speculation.
The progenitors of our progeni-
,ors, as we'll as the progenitors of
heir progenitors, are all lost in the
abyrinth of obscurity; and as for
racing all your ancestral windings
rom the present back to the begin
ling, is as impossible as the attempt
would be absurd. The halls where
,ur ancestors revelled are dark in.
Iced. We feel sad and lonely in
them, but..cannot realize that
heir old inmates are gone to return
10 more; that their joys are ended !;
he music of their voices has ceased
brewer, and that the monuments of
heir greatness, now fast falling into
lecay, must soon lie broken and bu-
led in the dust of oblivion. We
eek for them, but they are not to be
ound we call, but they answer not
IN their cold, sepulchral beds, where
fought can trouble or modest, they
re sleeping the sleep that knows no
waking. They have given their bod
es to earth, their souls back into the
lands of their creator, and left the
ecord of their good deeds for pos
Gritty to praise and protect by word,
,ut to abuse and mutilate by action.
Ifter the lapse Of few years, we
rill have drawn the brittle thread of
ife to so fine a texture that old age
ge and infrmity will suddenly snap
! asunder. Then our children's
rand children may enter our desert
d mansions, and find them dark and
eserted. They may knock at the
oor of our tomb, but we will hear
hem not. 1t will require some
hing more than q mortal rap to
rouse US from our slumbers. We
ill sleep sweetly on, undisturbed by
ne earthquakes and thunders of a
Irring world till the last great day,
hen we will come forth in new
nd more beautiful garb, and soar on
oiritual pinions to the realms of
nmortality. Though our sublunary
wellings become dreary, and the
ct Of after generations tread care
ssly upon our graves, still, if we
ave done our whole duty to God
I'd our fellow-man, we will certainly
} remembered by Him who protect
h the sparrow, and listeneth to the
,ung ravens cry. If We would not
, wholly forgotten by pdsterity, we .
ust love morality, and, above all, i
I'VE an especial regard for truth and
tegrity. When we have climbed +,
e steep precipice of wealth or fame, s
,tend a willing hand to assist others
}, instead Of q foot to assist them
,wn. Do the best we know how. ;
ID no matter If gloom, at last, does /
our earthly residence, our celes-
Il home will be brilliantly illumin-
ed with glory forever. G
G. B. G