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Article TO THE YEAR 5842. Page 1 of 1
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
To The Year 5842.
TO THE YEAR 5842 .
LATEST , but not the last!—One of the many thousand that the past Hath seen expire—Child of a savage sire , Who , one by one .
His yearly progeny devours And spareth none' !—Son of old Saturn ! lo ! the ceaseless hours Bear in the newly born ! And thou art sped as surely
As that we hail'd with joy thy early morn , And deck'd thy brow , that beam'd so purely , With promises of endless good—¦ From us and for us ! On the flood That sweeps towards the future , and will be
Lost in eternity , I fling this chaplet of the mournful muse ; Formed but of faded flowers , that diffuse Perfume no longer—that no longer bloom—But , like the wreath that withers on the tomb ,
Speaks of the deep regrets we nurture now For many a broken vow—For duties unperform'd—for good perverted—For follies shared—for friends , perhaps , deserted—For all that human frailty can express ,
When at the throne of grace it would confess Man ' s utter worthlessness ! J . LEE STEVENS .
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
To The Year 5842.
TO THE YEAR 5842 .
LATEST , but not the last!—One of the many thousand that the past Hath seen expire—Child of a savage sire , Who , one by one .
His yearly progeny devours And spareth none' !—Son of old Saturn ! lo ! the ceaseless hours Bear in the newly born ! And thou art sped as surely
As that we hail'd with joy thy early morn , And deck'd thy brow , that beam'd so purely , With promises of endless good—¦ From us and for us ! On the flood That sweeps towards the future , and will be
Lost in eternity , I fling this chaplet of the mournful muse ; Formed but of faded flowers , that diffuse Perfume no longer—that no longer bloom—But , like the wreath that withers on the tomb ,
Speaks of the deep regrets we nurture now For many a broken vow—For duties unperform'd—for good perverted—For follies shared—for friends , perhaps , deserted—For all that human frailty can express ,
When at the throne of grace it would confess Man ' s utter worthlessness ! J . LEE STEVENS .