The Redwood gazette. [volume] (Redwood Falls, Minn.) 1873-1940, 1879-12-25
THE IRON GATE.

AT the recent literary gathering in Bostol
nlrth OF DIR. Oliver Wendell Holmes, II. o
H0ughton made the principal cOngratulatOry
sau m,n ana offered as sentiment: 'i IN,
Forever" DIR. Holmes responded by reading
the following poem:
Where is this patriarch you are kindly greet
Not unfamiliar to my ear his name,
Nor yet unknown to many joyous meeting
In days long vanished-is he still the same,
Or changed by years, forgotten and forget
Duli-cared, dim-sishted, slow of speech ant
still DER the sad, degenerate present fretting
Where all goes wrong and nothing as Il
Old age. the gray-beard! well, indeed, know
shrunk, to,teriny, bent, Of aches and ills tn,
In SERMON, story. fable, picture, poem,
Oft have met him from my earliest day,
In my old .Esop, toiing with his bundle
His load of sticks-politely asking Death,
Who comes when called for-would he lug O,
His fagot for him-he was scant of breath.
And sad I" Ecclesiastes. or the Preacher
Has he not stamped the image on my soul
n that last Chapter, where the WORKOUT
Teacher
Signs DER the loosened cord, the broken
bowl?
Yes, long. indeed, I've known him at dis.
And now my lifted door-latch shows hin,
take his shriveled hand without resistance.
And ind him smiling as his step draws near.
What though of gilded baubles he bereaves
Dear to the heart of youth, to manhood's
Think of the calm he brings, the wealth he
leaves us.
The boarded spoals, the legacies of time!
Affairs once flaming, still with incense fra
grant,
PASSIONS uneasy nurselings rocked asleep,
Hopes anchor faster. wild desire less vagrant,
LIES flow less noisy, but the stream, how
deep.
still as the silver cord gets worn and tender,
Its lightened task-work tugs with lessening
strain:
Hands get more helpful, voices grow more ten
Soothe with their softened tones the slum-
berouS brain.
Youth longs and manhood strives, but age re
members;
Spreads its thin hands above the whitening
embers
That warm its creeping life-blood till the
Dear to its heart is every loving token
That comes unbidden ere its pulse grows
cold.
Ere the last lingering ties of life are broken.
Its labors ended and its story told.
All. when around us rosy youth rejoices,
For us the soriow-laden breezes sigh,
And through the chorus Of its jocund voices
Throbs the sharp note of misery's hopeless
cry.
As on the gauzy wings Of fancy flying
from some Tar orb l track our watery
Home, of the struggling, suffering, doubling,
dying.
The silvered globule seems a glistening
But Nature lends her mirror of illusion
To WIN from sadening scenes our age
dimmed eyes,
And misty day dreams blend in sweet con-
fusion
The wintry landscape and the summer
skies.
So when the iron portal shuts behind us,
And life forgets us in its noise and whirl.
Visions that summed the glaring MONDAY
And glimmering starlight shows the gates of
pearl.
- come not here your morning hour to
sad den.
A limping pilgrim. leaning on his staff
!. who have never deemed 1t sin to gladden.
This vale of sorrows with a wholesome
laugh.
If word of mine another's gloom hss bright
ened,
Through my dumb lips the Heaven-sent
message came;
Ii hand of mine anO, hers task has lightened,
1t felt the guidance that it dares not claim.
But oh, nv gentle sisters oh my brothers,
Ties thick-sOwn snOw-takeS hint of tolls
release:
These feebler pulses bid me leave to others
The tasks once welcome; evening asks for
peace.
Time claims his tribute; silence now is
golden;
Let me not vex the too long suffering Tyre;
Though to your love untiring still behOlden;
The curfew tells me-cOver up the fire.
And now with grateful smile and accents
cheerful,
And warmer heart than look or word can
tell,
In simplest phrase-these traitorous eyes are
tealful-
Thanks, Brothers, Sisters = Children and
Farewell!