Imatges de pàgina
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Wo scatter seeds with careless hand,
And dream we ne'er shall see them more ;

But for a thousand years

Their fruit appears,
In weeds that mar the land,

Or healthful store.
The deeds we do, the words we say,
Into still air they seem to fleet.

We count them ever past;

But they shall last-
In the dread judgment they
And we shall meet!


Butler & Tanner, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome, and London.

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Tour MUSED as the midnight hour drew nigh, and me. I thought the Old Year stood before me. Weary and US wayworn he seemed, and in his hand was an hour-glass,

from which the last sands were fleeting. E' As I looked upon his wrinkled forehead, memories I both pleasant and mournful came over me. Fain would

I have constrained his longer stay, and spake earnestly V to him :-"Many blessings hast thou brought me, for which I give thee thanks. New have they been every morning and fresh every moment. Thou hast indeed from my heart's garden uprooted some hopes that I planted there ; with their clustering buds they fell, and were never quickened again.”

Then he said, “Praise God both for what I gave and for what I took away. And lay up treasures in heaven, that thy heart may be there also. What thou hast called blighted hopes are ofttimes changed into the fruits of righteousness."

But I answered, “ Thou hast also hidden from my sight the loved and revered. They have gone down to the grave. They are in the land of silence, and they reply to my call no more. To the homes that they made so fair they return not, and the places that once knew them know them now no more for ever.

Still he said, “ Give praise to God. Trouble not thyself about those that are with Him ; rather make thy own salvation sure, that thou mayest go unto them, and be parted no more for ever.”

Then in a faint voice he murmured, “ My mission unto man is done. For me the stone is rolled away from the door of the sepulchre. I shall enter in and slumber with the years beyond the Flood, till the last trumpet soundeth.” I gazed upon his wan brow, and to me it was beautiful. Fain would I have swept away the snows that gathered around his hoary temples ; but he suffered me not, and stretched himself out to die. By his side I knelt and said, “ O departing year, I behold a scroll folded beneath thy mantle! What witness shall it bear of me at the judgment ?" · Low and solemn were his last words : “ Ask me not; thou shalt know when the books are opened, and the dead, small and great,

red and read of silence, and fair they returpre for e

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