Martinsburg independent. [volume] (Martinsburg, W. Va.) 1875-1900, 1881-01-08
JANUARY 1. 1880.

JANUL
1t is midnight in December,
And hear distant bell,
Out upon the night-air tolling
Muff1ed low fun'ral knell,
For the Old Year now is passing.
And his cold and frosty breath,
bringing white his lips and nostrils,
Sadly tell us of his death.
Dying, dying, oh how sadly,
Comes to us this sound of woe,
Telling in mournful cadence,
OF that journey all must go.
Hard the problem, who can solve it
Strange the question, What is life ?
Is there naught beyond these shadows?
Ends existence with this strife ?
Man. poor mortal, ploGs his journey,
With the load of life oppressed,
Ever striving to remove the
Doubtful thought within his breast.
Yet in strangest contradiction,
In his heart forever rise,
Hopes and longings for future
Far beyond the starry skies.
But we pause in speculation,
Hasten to our chorus theme,
Lightly sketch vision rising
Like mirage on the stream.
All. how Wierd the forms OF shadow,
AS our horoscope is cast,
That materialize in silence,
Der the dead and vanished Past.
Just twelve months ago in glory,
With the widest sound OF mirth
And the church bells loudly ringing,
Was the aged pilgrims birth.
All the starry train of heaven,
On that cold and icy morn,
Brought their presents,paid their homage
To the royal infant born.
Then again in CHASTITY silence,
Travelled on the tabled crew,
Guardian angels, guardian demons,
OF the Seasons passing through.
Aries, Taurus and Orion,
All the constellation throng,
Were the emblems of the fruitage,
OF the months that passed along.
Now like panorama rolling,
And now like dissolving view,
Passes all the world before us,
or the Old Year in review.
First the Seasons grand and stately
With bold and princely tread,
Pass along the kings great highway
March in silence DER the dead
Spring pours out his warm libations,
Summer brings her sheaves of gold,
Autumn gathers in his vintage.
Winter spreads his blanket cold.
Thus the shadows chase the sunshine,
Thus the checkered Seasons run,
Quickly follow one by one.
Now old Erin's form is passing,
oh! unhappy, troubled land,
That seems born for desolatiOn,
Meath ruthless iron hand.
Murder and Assassination,
With dark and bloody reign,
Sweep the Emerald Isle with terror,
Bind her with an iron chain.
Tenants madly landlords murder,
AID T and paUpprS make their laws.
That supplant Great Britain's power
And subvert the English cause.
England's passing thro' crisis,
And her aristocracy
Will soon learn the costly lesson
That her masses will be free.
AS the geologic forces,
Bring the lofty mountains down,
So does time begin to level,
Peasant, noble, serf and crown.
All the nations of Old Europe,
Are, too, at a fevered vein,
With their people disconnected,
And their gamers light in grain.
While the Old Worlds under shadows,
Golden sunshine bathes the New,
And Columbia's peaceful valleys,
Fairy land like, pass in view.
Peace with white wings ,breathes herspirit,
Over all the busy land,
And both Capital and labor,
Walk together hand in hand.
Gold and silver, now in currents,
From the fountains so long dry,
Flow again their ancient channels,
And the peoples wants supply.
Labor so long bound and shackled,
With the Hard Times iron bands,
Now awakes the silent work shops
With his hundred brawny hands;
While the merchant and mechanic,
And the tiller of the soil,
Each receives in satisfaction,
Compensation for his toll.
Virtue is no longer beggar,
Honest Labor no more trampS;
Only Crime, and Fraud and Incidence
Are in need of aims OF stamps.
Happy happy, are our people,
Happy may they ever be,
And enjoy the richest blessings,
OF sound prosperity.
All, what sound is that now rolling,
Like distant mountain storm,
lis the Nations great election,
And the battle wakes warm.
Yes, the great quadrennial fever,
Presidential typhus throbs,
In the veins of patriot statesmen
Looking out for Federal jobs.
From Atlantic's stormy waters,