The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1876-02-10
POETRY.
THE EXPIRING YEAR.


To the fair mind the closing hours Of day
The seeds through which their mystic "a1e'
Much less the last sad hours Of this old year:
IT'S not that meditation drear and SAD,
Should always crowd upon inc sn'"'A'us
And thus .' em;bItter all the days Of life;
IRIS 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 copjores np
TO God, Is well--should he thus murder time,
BY constant dreaming on life to be:
And yet, aud yet, . sadness sometimes comes
At this sweet hour when joy more welcome
a&Were-,,
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 mera'ries crowd.
IT'S now that we remember those who late
Have passed away-a husband or wife
A son, Or daughter, or prattiing child
A sister or = brother once 50 DEAR
Our Thoughts 60 back to that remembered
In early life, when We thu sports hogan,
Or, haply pressed with care or toll, we joined
Lies burdens to relieve or hand N hand
Mid winter blasts and SHOWS severe. We
l. all, to gain the goal Of our desires-
The scnool-house on the hill we used to
climb
IT'S. now that we remember those we knew,
With many more who on lies journey sped,
Before our time-lite's journey to that land
Immortal, where we oil must soon repair.
Whe hath not lost fricnds-a friend most
And who SO base his virtues to forget!
These ara the mem'ries then that weigh the
heart.
As We the expiring hours Of this brief year
Now count; aud a. we write, at close Of day,
The strange, sad news comes clicking DER the
80 wires
Which tells us Of his unexpected death
Or eft In sorrow, when in ripper years,
Breathed the soft whisp'rings Of = hope Of
Is gone"sone to that rest which waits rs all.
An, yes!-the messenger arrives, nor yet
Nor yet doth he warning give Of what
The'' , 1,gh,ly, halt sealed package may con-
With f, nhst SAD l. news the missive now is
Again we read those lines and is it thus9
A b1otherl-yes, q brother once 30 dear, .t
Hath gone to his long rest beyond the tomb.
Was It an angel then that spoke to us9
The solemn sound We even seem to feel,
And now 1t this sad sound we heard Alright,
And rightly Sc interpret that sweet voice,
It comes to Us from yopder spheres, where Oft
Before In that sweet pot in that bright land ~
That h .ppy land that knows no parting hour
No closing day, aud no expiring year
That land OF beauty and Of perfect bliss,
Hath gone a seraph there for aye to rest.
In that bright train do we behold host
Who've gone before. Then wherefore sadness
now2-
The final hour of this expiring year?
But, ali it's pleasant sometimes cen to weep.
And sorrow often finds relief in tears.
And must we then unb,dden grief restrain?
It cannot be. Let other hearts rejoice
Let other tongues their joyous tidings tell;
Their cup ofjoy may even overflow,
And yet tits fitting some should often weep
That those whose pathways are beset with
And seldom yet have they with flowers been
streWn,
Should thus reflect-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 lies short journey here on earth below,
And nearer, hence, to that bright Heaven
above.
River Falls, Wis, Dec. 81, 1876.