Lamoille newsdealer. [volume] (Hyde Park, Vt.) 1860-1877, 1871-09-13
One.
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One hour Of the new day gone
One more car, with iis sixty soundless
wheels-laden with records Of human
life, swept, with no ringing Of bell, across
the highways and around the curves Of
Earth into the depot Of Eternity, whose
keeper is Jehovah
One
The little ormolu clock from its fes-
tooned bracket above the mantle heralds
the tidings throughout the silent room I;
and the canary, asleep in his ivory ring,
leaps at once, full-throated and open
eyed. into jubilate that floods the air
with the tender trills of song.
One
We turn of the gas-the bird-song
ceases.
We draw aside the curtains, throw back
the shutters, open the windows, and
lean across the. easement into the night
How silent il is ! And yet, the silence,
as we lean and listen, quickens with
voices whose ebb and flow made once the
low dorons of our life TO bud and blossom
as the rose make still, and will make
forever, the Alpha and Omega of loves
sweetest dream.
The moonlight lays its bands Of silver
across the looseness of our hair, and
upon our temples, burdened with fever
throbs Of fancy overwrought, the fingers
of the wind are pressing, as the mothers
lips, through night so long ago.
The wing of sleep covers the city, as
the wings of a bird her brood but the
lights of heaven shine through, illumin.
ing cathedral spire and clOister-wall-
the high halls of the rich and the low
roofs of the poor; and, over all, is the
banner of Gods love His protecting
care, and the heaven of His holiness.
The "voiceless night" grows voiceful
A sound breaking from wine-red lips
floats from the sweet soul of the past t.
the fountains in the still aisles of oul
being, and 10 | a shower of glitterins
drops over the blooms so dark with dus
of dreary days, and q song through al
the stiffness like the singing of the sea.
An odor of violets from the wet way
of an old, old woodland is folded unde
the plumage of the night, and the cain
leaves of life's first lilies seem rustlinI
to the buds, storm-shaken, but hapl
spared for the sweetening of later days.
One
, One voice above all others from on
the sepulchre Of the past One hand
fairer than all others-reaching acros
, the urn whose very rim is under tn
ashes of burnt out hope
l One face with its frame Of carve
locks, and lips like palest primrose-it
5 delicate cheeks, and lids with fringe {
, amber-its brows where no red blood II
| and its temples with no purple of living
S One day discrowned and desolate, tE
S life of all its hours face to face with th
. death of all its dreams, and somethin
sweeping through its stiffness like soun
;, of ships going down to the black hea
d of the sea, and sound of waves close
/, closely up above and sealed with seal I
thunder.
e One faith, fair and fruitful, that n,
a the laboring of years, nsr men, nor god
s nor doom, nor death can alter
t One gleam of the far-of silver of +
q pose over all the waters of waiting.
1t is enough ....-....
le We close the window and its shutter
IS rearrange the damask and the lace, p
le back the stand with its basin and ladd
of ivy, and just as the clock is telling Il
!; passing of another hour, go silently
TX the sweet heart Of our slumber, and to
4 sacred dream of-One