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Article TIME AND HIS BAG. Page 1 of 1
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Time And His Bag.
TIME AND HIS BAG .
A canto for the new yeae . Sweetly were the church-bells ringing through the frosty midnight air , For the new year a deep blessing , for the passing year a prayer ; As old Time with trembling footstep , in his priestly garments white , Bore his dead one to her burial , ' neath the solemn tears of night .
And I watched him—meek , submissive , lay her down with whispered sigh , By that one who gave her being , veiled and grand Eternity ; But the mourner ' s tears fell thickly on that seared and marble brow , As he murmured " I received her pure , but oh , how sullied now I " Much I mourned to see the sorrow of that old man ' s breaking heart , And reflected on the misery bound up in the words—to part ; Scarce seven days had gone by since I saw him in his Christmas glee , And how hearty and how joyous did the old man seem to be !
He had wreathed around her forehead who that night had passed away , Leaves in shining richness , emblems of a merry ^ winter day ; And his deep tones low and solemn on my wounded spirit fell , Seeming of past mystery buried , with a godlike voice to tell . " . Often from my store I ' ve brought thee brilliant smiles and bitter tears , And the dark experience hidden in the mass of human years ; Mark then well , what with the gifts of others came last year from thee , To fill up the burdened satchel which I ever bear by me .
<( These are sins , long since forgotten , some no error thou hast deemed , Scarce a shadow in thine eyesight have these same transgressions seemed ; Yet I'd bring thee what thou wouldest tremble , mortal , to review , On them angel's tears are resting , thick as Autumn ' s evening dew . " Hopes here lie , around them folded shrouds of anguish and of grief , Scarcely born , Death claimed their freshness , and their precious smiles were brief ; Blessed were they amidst life ' s sorrows , but perchance woe ' s burning pile , Lit upon the heart's high beacon , kept away a greater toil .
" And I ' ve folded , oh ! how fondly , priceless memory of those , Who have fought and won their requiem on the swords of England ' s foes ; I have watched firesides deserted , and have felt death lay his head , Wearied on my aching bosom , where the destroying angel fled . " Thoughts will to old haunts deserted idly wander back once more , Where they played in childhood ' s beauty , who now tread a foreign shore ; With what love I viewed the rosy infant at his mother ' s breast , Child no more , the martial chieftain takes the warrior ' s dreamless rest .
" Hark ! from , yon old belfry gladly bears the wind those sounds along , How mysterious , though familiar , falls upon my heart their song ; As I bear the feeble chanting of the Past ' s sepulchral voice , Mingling with the New Year ' s carol , calling all men to rejoice . u Strangely do they sound together ,- — 'tis like wedding joy and woe , Yet how oft have I united grief and hope in earliest glow ! 1 must quit thee : may my words when seeking through life ' s mists to peer , Sound like fog-bells , ever warning with their tones so loud and clear . " Emilie M .
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Time And His Bag.
TIME AND HIS BAG .
A canto for the new yeae . Sweetly were the church-bells ringing through the frosty midnight air , For the new year a deep blessing , for the passing year a prayer ; As old Time with trembling footstep , in his priestly garments white , Bore his dead one to her burial , ' neath the solemn tears of night .
And I watched him—meek , submissive , lay her down with whispered sigh , By that one who gave her being , veiled and grand Eternity ; But the mourner ' s tears fell thickly on that seared and marble brow , As he murmured " I received her pure , but oh , how sullied now I " Much I mourned to see the sorrow of that old man ' s breaking heart , And reflected on the misery bound up in the words—to part ; Scarce seven days had gone by since I saw him in his Christmas glee , And how hearty and how joyous did the old man seem to be !
He had wreathed around her forehead who that night had passed away , Leaves in shining richness , emblems of a merry ^ winter day ; And his deep tones low and solemn on my wounded spirit fell , Seeming of past mystery buried , with a godlike voice to tell . " . Often from my store I ' ve brought thee brilliant smiles and bitter tears , And the dark experience hidden in the mass of human years ; Mark then well , what with the gifts of others came last year from thee , To fill up the burdened satchel which I ever bear by me .
<( These are sins , long since forgotten , some no error thou hast deemed , Scarce a shadow in thine eyesight have these same transgressions seemed ; Yet I'd bring thee what thou wouldest tremble , mortal , to review , On them angel's tears are resting , thick as Autumn ' s evening dew . " Hopes here lie , around them folded shrouds of anguish and of grief , Scarcely born , Death claimed their freshness , and their precious smiles were brief ; Blessed were they amidst life ' s sorrows , but perchance woe ' s burning pile , Lit upon the heart's high beacon , kept away a greater toil .
" And I ' ve folded , oh ! how fondly , priceless memory of those , Who have fought and won their requiem on the swords of England ' s foes ; I have watched firesides deserted , and have felt death lay his head , Wearied on my aching bosom , where the destroying angel fled . " Thoughts will to old haunts deserted idly wander back once more , Where they played in childhood ' s beauty , who now tread a foreign shore ; With what love I viewed the rosy infant at his mother ' s breast , Child no more , the martial chieftain takes the warrior ' s dreamless rest .
" Hark ! from , yon old belfry gladly bears the wind those sounds along , How mysterious , though familiar , falls upon my heart their song ; As I bear the feeble chanting of the Past ' s sepulchral voice , Mingling with the New Year ' s carol , calling all men to rejoice . u Strangely do they sound together ,- — 'tis like wedding joy and woe , Yet how oft have I united grief and hope in earliest glow ! 1 must quit thee : may my words when seeking through life ' s mists to peer , Sound like fog-bells , ever warning with their tones so loud and clear . " Emilie M .