The Grange advance., 1876-02-09
THE EXPIRING YEAR.
EY'A. MORSE.

THE EXPIRING YEAR.
.EYA. MORSE. +
To the fair mind the closing hours of day
Ne'er pass without a thorough winnowing Of
Inc SEEDS through which their mystic mazes
Much less less the last sad hours Of this old year.
81 LIS not that meditation drear and sad,
ohouid always crowd upon the shrinking
And thus einbitter all the days Of life;
lis not that so-called dread eternity
ForeVer present to the mind should be;
Or that the singing birds of hope should fly,
Scared by the phantoms fancy conjures up.
Man would be false to nature and himself
10 dod, as well--should he thus murder time,
~ constant dreaming on life to be.
ana yet, and yet, sadness sometimes comes
AT this sweet hour when joy more welcome
W When we do wish the winter rose to bloom
When we do wish the sun brighter beam.
Those hallow'd names-those names of friends
once dear,
Despite ourselves, upon our me1n'ries crowd.
'Tis now that We remember those who late
have passed aWay-a husband or wife
A son, or daughter, or prattling child
sister or brother once SO DEAR
Our thoughts 60 back to that remembered
time
~ C~AAy AAlCS WHICH, VIC tue Sports Dclau.
Or, haply pressed with care or toll, we Joined
Lies burdens to relieve; or hand IN hand
Mo winters blasts and SHOWS severe, We
braved
It all, to gain the goal OF our DESIRES
The school-house on the hill we used to
climb
'Tis now that we remember those we knew,
With many more who on life's journey sped,
Before our time-lite's journey to that land
Immortal, where we ali must soon repair.
Who hath not lost triend?-a friend most
And who so base his virtues to forget?
These are the mem'ries then that weigh the
As We the expiring hours Of this brief year
Now count; and as we write, at close of day,
The strange, sad news comes clicking o'er the
wires
Which tells us of his unexpected death
That he whose youthful voice oft cast smile,
Or oft in sorrow, when in ripper years,
Breathed the soft whisp'rlngs Of a hope OF
heaven,
Is gone-gone to that rest which waits us all.
All, yes the messenger arrives, nor yet
Nor yet doth he warning give Of what
The lightly, halt-sealed package may con-
With f,sl,ak+ what sad news the missive now is
Again we read those lines,-and is il thus?
A brother!-yes, a brother once so dear,
Hath gone to his long rest beyond the tomb.
Was it an angel then that spoke to us?
The solemn sound we even seem to feel,
And now if this sad sound we heard Alright,
And rightly sc interpret that sweet voice,
It comes to US from yonder spheres, where oft
Before in that sweet spot-in that bright land
That happy land that knows no parting hour
No closing day, and no expiring year.
That LAND OF beauty and OF perfect bliss,
Hath gone seraph there for aye to rest.
In that bright train do we behold host
Who've gone before. Then wherefore sadness
now?-
The final hour of this expiring year?
But, ah :! it's pleasant sometimes cen to weep,
And sorrow often finds relief in tears.
And must we then unbldden grief restrain?
It cannot be. Let other hearts rejoice
Let other tongues their joyous tidings tell
Their cup ofjOy may even Ovel flow,
And yet tits fitting some should often weep
That those whose pathways are beset with
thorns,
And seldom yet have they with flowers been
strewn,
Should thus refect-should thus these scenes
review,
That they may ripper grow in wisdom's ways,
AS each retiring day or year brings them
A days, or years march nearer to the end
Of lite's short Journey here on earth below,
And nearer, hence, to that bright Heaven
above.
River Falls, Wis, Dec. 81, 1875.