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Article VANISHED HOURS. ← Page 2 of 3 →
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Vanished Hours.
early years ; the cold lonely season ot lull age from the heyday or glorious youth , the comely associations of maturity ! If the old enemy has dealt lightly with us , has it so treated others ? Alas , no ! no ! The fairest and fondest have long since left us ; the gentle maiden , the sunny youth , the noble manhood and the benign old age ,
haA r e all passed aAvay ; and we , like as one placed on the cold , calm , placid sea , in the grey dim light of a waning moon , seem to be drifting on , half unconsciously , " to shores Avhere all is dumb . " We have feAV left to cheer or encourage , perhaps none to vindicate or to bless us . And yet here we still are , and here Ave are bound to be , until , in the ineffable Avisdom and goodness of our Great Maker , we shuffle off
our mortal coil and enter upon that strange and mystic land , that great and solemn "Bourne" from Avhich there is no returning , and from which none have come back of our friends or familiar circle to reveal to us its secrets , or explain to us the Avay . As still to-day , hoAvever , in the turmoil and troubles of life , amid
engrossing cares or ensnaring toils , when the heart is heavy and the spirits Avince , such thoughts face us all , let us welcome them as fair harbingers from the great shadow-land , kindly visitants of desolate abodes , gentle companions of a Aveary pilgrimage , whisperers of hope , and heralds of peace , and let us seek to make them our own in their
fulness and fragrance , their remembrances and their reality . To use the words of an unknown but charming poet , which recently appeared in an eminent monthly contemporary , "All the Year Round , " let us seek to bring before us the message and meaning of " vanished hours . "
WHERE are they gone , those dear dead days , Those sweet past days of long ago , Whose ghosts go floating to and fro When evening leads us through her maze ? Where are they gone ? Ah ! Avho can tell ? Who weave once more that long-passed spell ?
They did exist when we were young , We met our life with strength and trust , We deemed all things Avere pure and just , Nor knew life had a double tongue . We lightly sang a happy song .
Nor dreamed our way could e ' er be Avrong . And then all changed ; as life went by , The friend deceived , or bitter death Smiled as he drank our clear one ' s breath , And would not let us also die . Day followed day ; as on they went Each took some gift that life had sent .
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Vanished Hours.
early years ; the cold lonely season ot lull age from the heyday or glorious youth , the comely associations of maturity ! If the old enemy has dealt lightly with us , has it so treated others ? Alas , no ! no ! The fairest and fondest have long since left us ; the gentle maiden , the sunny youth , the noble manhood and the benign old age ,
haA r e all passed aAvay ; and we , like as one placed on the cold , calm , placid sea , in the grey dim light of a waning moon , seem to be drifting on , half unconsciously , " to shores Avhere all is dumb . " We have feAV left to cheer or encourage , perhaps none to vindicate or to bless us . And yet here we still are , and here Ave are bound to be , until , in the ineffable Avisdom and goodness of our Great Maker , we shuffle off
our mortal coil and enter upon that strange and mystic land , that great and solemn "Bourne" from Avhich there is no returning , and from which none have come back of our friends or familiar circle to reveal to us its secrets , or explain to us the Avay . As still to-day , hoAvever , in the turmoil and troubles of life , amid
engrossing cares or ensnaring toils , when the heart is heavy and the spirits Avince , such thoughts face us all , let us welcome them as fair harbingers from the great shadow-land , kindly visitants of desolate abodes , gentle companions of a Aveary pilgrimage , whisperers of hope , and heralds of peace , and let us seek to make them our own in their
fulness and fragrance , their remembrances and their reality . To use the words of an unknown but charming poet , which recently appeared in an eminent monthly contemporary , "All the Year Round , " let us seek to bring before us the message and meaning of " vanished hours . "
WHERE are they gone , those dear dead days , Those sweet past days of long ago , Whose ghosts go floating to and fro When evening leads us through her maze ? Where are they gone ? Ah ! Avho can tell ? Who weave once more that long-passed spell ?
They did exist when we were young , We met our life with strength and trust , We deemed all things Avere pure and just , Nor knew life had a double tongue . We lightly sang a happy song .
Nor dreamed our way could e ' er be Avrong . And then all changed ; as life went by , The friend deceived , or bitter death Smiled as he drank our clear one ' s breath , And would not let us also die . Day followed day ; as on they went Each took some gift that life had sent .