Omaha daily bee., 1909-12-31
THE CLOSING YEAR.

BY George u. Prentice.
'ris midnight's holy hour-and silence now
Is brooding like a gentle spirit Ger
me sun ana pulseless world-Hark! on
The BELLS deep tones are ~sweling-'tis the
OF the departed year. No funeral train
Is sweeping past; yet. on the stream and
with melancholy light, the moonbeams
Like 2 pale, spouess sbr0ud; the air is
As by a mourner's sigh; and on yon cloud
That floats so stih and placidly through
heaven,
The spirits OF the seasons seem to stand
Young spring, bright summer autumn's
And winter With its aged iocks-and
In mournfui cadences that come abroad
Like the far wind:harp's wild and touch-
A melancholy dirge DER the dead year.
Gone from the earth forever
For memory and for, tears, Within the
still chambers Of the heart, a specter dim.
whose tones are like the wizards voice
Heard from the tomb OF ages, points its
cold
And solemn finger to the beautiful
And left no shadow Of their loneliness
On the dead waste Of life. That specter
The coffin lid Of Hope and JOY and Love.
And, bending mournfully above the pale,
Sweet forms that slumber there, ~soatters
dead flowers
Ger what has passed to nothingness.
Has gone, and with it, many a glorious
throng
OF happy dreams. It's mark is on each
brow. ..H ...
It's shadow in each heart. In it's swift
It waved it's scepter DER the beautiful,
And they are not. 1t laid its pallid hand
Upon, the strong man, and the naughty
Is fallen, and the flashing eve is dim
II trod the hall OF revelry, where thronged
The bright and joyous, and the fearful
OF stricken ones is heard where erst the
song ..,s.
And reckless shout resounded-
The battle plain, where sword and spear
Flashed in the light Of midday, and the
OF SERTED hosts is shivered, and the grass.
Green from the soil of carnage, waves
above
The crushed and molderlng skeleton. 1t
came,
And faded like a wreath of mist at eve:
Yet ere it melted in the ylewless air
II heralded its millions to their home,
l., Remorseless Timel
Fierce spirit OF the glass and scythe!-
Can stay him in his silent course! or melt
Ills iron heart TO pity? On, still on,
He presses, and forever. The proud bird,
The condor of the Andes, that can soar
Through heavens unfathomable depths, or
brave ,n
The fury Of the northern hurricane,
And bathes his plumage in the thunder's
Furls his broad wings at nightfall, and
To rest upon his mountain crag-but Time
Knows not the weight Of sleep or weari-
ness, ,..... IR.. =
And nights deep darkness has no chain
to bind
His rushing pinions.
Ger earth, like troubled visions DER the
OF dreaming sorrow; cities rise and sink
Like bubbles on the water; fiery isles
Spring blazing from the ocean, and go
back.
To their mysterious caverns; mountains
To heaven their bald and blackened cliffs,
and bow
Their tall heads to the plain; new empires
rise 7tfT GyRb yiJttr TC3 a.u.
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 Pleiades, loveltest 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-pitlless, and pauses not
Amid the mighty wrecks that strew his
path,
Upon the fearful ruin he has wrought.