The Tarboro' Southerner

A Beautiful Extract.

I saw a temple reared by the hand of man, standing with its high pinnacles in the distant plain. The streams beat upon it—the God of Nature hurled His thunderbolts against it—and yet it stood as firm as adamant. Revelry was in its halls—the gay, the happy and the beautiful were there. I returned, and the temple was no more, its high walls lay scattered in ruins; moss and wild grass grew there. The young and the gay that revelled there had passed away.

I saw a child rejoicing in his youth—the idol of his mother, the pride of his father. I returned, and the child had become old—trembling with the weight of years. He stood the last of his generation—a stranger amidst the desolation around him.

I saw an old oak standing in all its pride, on the mountains—the birds were caroling on its boughs. I returned, the oak was leafless and sapless, the winds were playing at their pastime through its branches.

"Who is that destroyer?" said I to my guardian angel.

"It is Time," said he. "When the morning stars sang together in joy over the new made world, he commenced his course. And when he shall have destroyed all that is beautiful of the earth—plucked the sun from his sphere—veiled the moon in blood; yea, and when he shall have rolled heaven and earth away as a scroll; then shall an angel from the throne of God come forth, and with one foot on the sea and the other on the land, lift up his hand towards Heaven eternal. Time is. Time was, but time shall be no more!"