Martinsburg independent. [volume] (Martinsburg, W. Va.) 1875-1900, 1886-01-09

In the ceaseless ages track.
Past the noon of life in measure,
Facing now the setting sun;
What is all our life work vanished,
But blank forgotten one?
Human life is but shadow,
On the Ages dial cast,
Swiftly fading in oblivion,
'Mong the phantoms of the past.
AS this mighty truth we ponder,
Looking towards our setting sun,
Lean we on another milestone,
Measuring off our journey run.
Blank before us, blank behind us,
Notwithstanding such a fate,
IT'S our duty, still, dear readers,
NEW YEARS day to celebrate.
So dismissing thoughts of sadness,
Bout a fate we cannot stay,
Towards the past, and towards the future,
We will let our fancy play.
At our bidding, memory opens,
Wide the Old Years silent hall,
And a painted canvass hanging,
Like a map upon the WALL
CLOVIS with colors, strange commingled,
Showing up in light and shade,
Here and there on life's great highway,
Footprints that old Time has made.
Here are painted scenes and seasons
Life and death, and joy and hate;
Wealth and poverty commlngled,
High and low, and small and great.
From confusion thus COMPOUNDED,
From this charnel house of yore,
Here and there, Wen trace a shadow,
AS itwierdly passes DER.
First, come Seasons in their order,
Winter, Spring and Summer too,
And the nut-brown, sombre Autumn,
With his cloak of varied hue;
Each one bearing precious burdens,
Over valley, field and glen,
Pours them out in lavish richness,
To supply the wants of men.
Kind, indeed, to all our people,
Was good Nature with her store,
Blessing with her golden harvests,
All our land from shore to shore.
All, what shadows now the canvass
That no modern map contains
IT'S Democratic ruler,
Seizes hold the Nations reins.
Yes party long from power, tat
Banished for some little cause,
Now returns to rule the Nation,
And to execute its laws.
We've just read the pond'rous message,
Cleveland sent our Solons late,
Crowded full of his suggestions,
Bout the Nations present state;
Message long enough on paper,
To bridge over now, we guess,
All the years his party, punished,
Wandered in the wilderness.
On finances he is solid,--
On the silver question, right;
The rag-bapy will not move him,
Though the times get pinching tight.
And, upon the Mormon question, 80
All his views are strictly true,
And he talks as plain Approaching,
Bout the vicious, nasty crew.
But the tariff, Cleveland straddles,
In quite ambiguous way,
Leaving people his position,
To interpret either way.
Yet well give him credit, readers,
For supporting what is good,
If it even is adopting
What his party never would.
For the better things, he favors
And the only, that he ought,
Are Republican inventions,
Which his party always fought.
Though from what he says on paper,
Every thing runs smooth along,
Still unwritten is the scramble,
OF the Democratic throng.
See what hordes of hungry Locos,
BY the scent of office led,
Dig and scratch around the White House
After Democratic bread.
Cleveland, first, to check these vandals,
And to scare the hungry swarm,
Hung an image up with label,
"CIVIL SERVICE AND REFORM
For time it somewhat frightened,
But its contents soon they snuffed,-
Twas the same old pair of breeches
That Republicasn had stuffed.
Couldn't scare them with it longer,
2Twixt its very legs they creep,
With emphatic voice demanding,
For an office, loud and deep.
Cleveland had to throw the sponge up
Could not stop the gathering storm,
Though he praises "CiCGJ SeTUice,"
Sti!l it is an empty form.
Now the gate is thrown wide open.
And "o6easiUe partisan"
Has to take his traps and tOddle
To let in another man.
Well, rather kind o like IL
Ills the good old Jackson style,
That To yictOrs in q party.
Always doth belong the 'spile.'
Brother Colston's got his DOODLE
The p0st0tlice OF our town,
But n night-m0r0 still disturbs him.
With the bloody Sherman's gown;
So he prays through StGteSmdR's columns
Thai the Lord VIII Cleveland save,-
Save Che Nati0n--saVe his office,
From the bloody garments wave.
All. "a f1n'ral pail is passing,
Apd the Nation bows its head,
while the bells are sadly tolling,
For C0lumbia's h0n0red dead.
Death shade stili upon the canyass,-
And across the stormy main,
Castl palace drapel iu mourning
For Alt0nzo, King OF spaln.