Bellows Falls times. [volume] (Bellows Falls, Vt.) 1856-1965, 1872-11-29
54liscfllamp.
One.
One hour of the new day gone

One more car, with its sixty soundless
W eels--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
Onel
The little ormolu clock from its fes-
tooned bracket above the mantle heralds
the tidings throughout the silent room
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 off 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 it is And yet the silence,
as we lean and listen, quickens with vol
ces whose ebb and flow made once the
low drones of our life to bud and bios
som as the rose; make still, and will
make forever, the Alpha and Omega OF
loves sweetest dream.
The moonlight lays its band of silver
across the looseness of our hair, and up
ON our temples, burdened with fever
throbs of fancy overweight, the fingers
of the wind are pressing, as the mothers
lips, through night 50 long ago.
The wing of sleep covers the city, as
the wings of bird her brood; but the
lights of heaven shine through, illumin-
ing cathedral spire and closter-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 "volceless night grows voiceful.
A sound breaking from wine-red lips,
floats from the sweet soul of the past to
the fountains in the still aisles of our be-
ing, and 10 shower of glittering drops
over the blooms 80 dark with dust of
dreary days, and a song through all the
stiffness ike the singing of the sea.
An odor of violets from the wet ways
Of an old, old woodland is folded under
the plumage Of the night, and the calm
leaves Of life's first lilies seem rustling
to the buds, storm-shaken, but haply
spared for the sweetening of later days.
Ouel
One voice above all others from out
the sepulcbre of the pastl One hand
iairer than all Understanding across
the urn whose very rim is under the ash
es of burht-out hope!
One face with its frame of carver
locks, and lips like palest primrose
delicate cheeks, and lids with fringe O
amber-its brows where no red blood is
and its temples with no purple of liv
ing
One day discrowned and desolate, thu
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death of all its dreams, and something
sweeping through its stiffness like sounc
Of ship going down to the black heart o
the sea, and sound of waves closed close
ly up above and sealed with seal of thun
der.
One faith, fair and fruitful, that no
the laboring of years, nor men, nor god
nor doom, nor death can alter!
One CLEAN of the far-off silver of re
pose over all the waters of waiting.
1t is enough
We close the window and its shutter
rearrange the damask and the lace, pu
back the stand with its basin and ladde
of ivy, and just as the clock is tellin
the passing of another hour, go silentl
to the sweet heart of our slumber, an
to sacred dream of-Onel