The Montgomery advertiser., 1902-12-31

BY George u. ITeHuCe.
It's the midnights holy hour-and sill
ence now
Is brooding, like a gentle spirit Ger
The still and pulseless world. HarK! on
the winds ,,,,-
the knel
OF the departed Year.
No funeral train
Is sweeping past; yet on the stream ana
wood
With melancholy light the moonbeams
Like a pale, spotless shroud; the air is
stirred
That floats so still and placidly through
Heaven.
The spirits of the seasons seem to stand
Young Spring, bright Summer, Autumn
And Winter with his aged locks-and
In mournful cadences. that come abroad
Like the far wind harp's wild and touch
melancholy dirge Ger the dead Year,
Gone from the earth forever.
IT'S a time
For memory and for tears. Within the
Still chambers of the heart. a specter dim.
Whose tones are like the wizard voice of
Heard from the tomb of ages, points Its
And solemn finger to the beautiful
And holy visions that have passed away
And left no shadow of their loneliness
On the dead waste Of life. That specter
lifts
The coffin-lid of hope, and JOY and love.
And, bending rnournfully above the pale
Sweet forms that slumber there, scatters
dead flowers
Ger what has passed to nothingness.
The Year
Has gone, and, with it, many a glorious
throng
OF happy dreams. Its mark is on each
brow.
1t waved its scepter Ger the beautiful.
And they are not. 1t laid its pallid hand
Upon the strong man, and the naughty
Is fallen, and the flashing eye is dim
1t trod the haIl of revery. where thronged
The bright and joyous, and the fearful
wall
OF stricken ones is heard where erst the
And reckless shout resounded. 1t passed
Ger
The battle plain. where sword and spear
and shield
Flashed in the light of midday-and the
or serried hosts is shlvered and the grass,
Green from the soil Of carnage. waves
above
The crushed and Wondering skeleton. 1t
came
And faded like a wreath OF mist at eve;
\ ct, ere it melted in the view'ess air,
1t heralded It's millions to their home
IN the dim land OF dreams.
Remorseless Time
Fierce spirit of the glass and scythe!-
what power
Can stay him In his silent course. or melt
His iron heart to pity? On, still on
The condor Of the Andes, that can soar
Through Heavens 4lnfathomable depths,
or brave
The fury of the northern hurricane
And battle his plumage in the thunders
home,
Furls his broad wings at nightfall, and
sinks down
To rest upon his mountain crag-Dut Time
Knows not the weight OF sleep or weari-
ness,
And nights deep darkness has no chain
to bind
His rushing pinion. Revolutions sweep
Ger earth, ike troubled wilson's DER the
breast
OF dreaming sorrow; cities rise and sink.
Like bubbles on the water; fiery isles
Spring, blazing, from the ocean, and go
back
To then mysterious caverns; mountains
rear
To Heaven their bald and blackened
cliffs, and bow
Their tall heads to the plain; new en-
pires rise,
Gathering the strength Of hOary centuries.
Startling the nations; and the very stars
Yon bright and burning blazonry of God.
Glitter awhile in their eternal Depths
And, like the Plead, loveIest of their
train,
Shoot from their glorious spheres. and
pass away,
To darkle in the trackless void: Yet
Time,
Time the tomb builder holds his fierce
career,
Dark, stern, all-pitiless. and pauses not
Amid the mighty wrecks that strew his
pathS
To sit and muse, Ike other conquerors,
Upon the fearful ruin he has wrought.