The Bossier banner. [volume] (Bellevue, Bossier Parish, La.) 1859-1952, 1907-12-26
THE NEW YEAR.

At ~ O'Clock next Tuesday night l9O'
will pass out and 1908 will be ushereo III
by the ringing of bells and the dismal moot
and foot Of steam whistles. Swifter than
a weayer's shuttle fly the days OF time;
the wears are as grains Of sand falling from
the hands of God. 'The tide is going
out''-the death dew is gathering around
the brow Of the fond Old Year, like death
shades creeping DER an old mans SOUL
Tn a few brief days this monarch which
has held sway DER the earth will have oeen
laid away in the sepulchre OF revolving
years. i
The rush of days into months, and OF
months into the g flood of years" is con-
stantly startling to those who have passed
the gilded limits of youth. 1t is an ever
present lesson to the one ambitious to &C
complish something in a life fleeing even
in its fullness, but curtailed in its power OF
achievement by immaturity in the early
stages and senility on the down grade.
Taking sleep, sickness, the ineffectiveness
of youth and the infirmities Of age into
consideration, the average man or woman
works on half time through the allotted
life, and must be industrious to do that.
We 90 through the world at rush. The
struggle is brief and fierce one. Life
is short and competition relentless.
The passage from 1907 to 1908 is mere
arbitrary division of time; but as marking
our longest period in the system OF dates
it is proyocation for moralizing on the value
of time This dividing landmark sepa-
rating the past from the future is holy
ground. Let US put off for moment the
shoes from our weary, travel-stained feet,
and ask what we shall carry with us over
the invisible boundary at which we stand.
There are some burdens it would be well to
lay aside.
With the death of the Old Year, what a
flood of memories, tide of thought rushes
over US like leaves following leaves in
storm, or clouds chasing clouds driven by
the wind swept heavens.
There is not heart which takes note of
the changing seasons that is not stirred
with some unrest as the old year gathers
itself to the numbered past. The losses,
the disappointments, the bereavements it
has witnessed come up afresh as it with
draws from our grasp its withered hand {;
and if its hours have been bright with hopes
fulfilled and JOY that sweetened our daily
cup, we feel all the more deeply the sad
ness of parting. But we are disturbed
most Of all because we have not left in its
keeping memorial of ourselves with which
we are content. If we could recall the
tablet and retouch the sad inscription; il
we could blot out here and there a bitter
word; if we could live over again some
wasted hours to better purpose; if we could
see offered once more to our hand the
golden opportunities we carelessly missed
or wantonly rejected; if we could but hole
back the fading form until we had plucked
those stings from its memory, we coulc
then let it go with less of self-reproach anc
listen calmly to the passing bell.
Externals pass away. The faces O.
things change. The babbling brook goes
dry: The enchanted forest is despoiled il
order that there may be beautiful mansions
The grandeur of yesterday is the ruin o
to-day The cosmos of to-day will be tn,
chaos of tomorrow. So then it is not tn,
material thing that abides, but that which
cannot be seen, nor heard, nor felt; not
sweet music, but the echo of it; not tn,
dying sunset, but the mental vision of it
not the tender caress of love, but the mem
DRY of il. Hope springs eternal in thu
breasts of all of US in contemplating tn,
future. May the future years for all b.
full of prosperity and pleasant reflections
For after all, what will our past life hav,
been worth if its reflection sweeten not GU
last moments? When hope is no longe
hope, but certainty, as typified in the dyin!
words of Stonewall jackson, the grea
Napoleon of the Civil War, as he feebly
softly murmured, as life was fast ebbin,
away: LET US cross over the river, an
rest under the shade of the trees.''
GREETING.