The Evening Bulletin

THE PASSING OF '92.

As one who lingers fondly o'er some book that he has read,

And turns the leaves to quicken all the host of Memory's dead,

So. pausing on the threshold of the New Year's open door,

Our backward glances linger on the year that's gone before.

Eventful year! When Time shall warp the century's book of fate,

And Memory's clasps shall rust-away thy name will yet be great

Within thy wond'rous web no strand grim visaged war has spun;

Yet in the reign of Peace what year can show what thou hast done?

What varying things have stirred the heart of man within thy life,

From great and noble actions done to deeds of deadly strife.

'Tis not one great event alone that's linked unto thy name,

But look! and see how many ways thou'rt bound to deathless fame.

Columbus year! Think what it means Four hundred years ago

He took the natives by surprise and started us to grow.

We gave him no reception as he sailed into the bay;

We had not then been thought of. But just look at us today!

Columbus touched the button when he landed in the west,

And in ninety-three Chicago will present us with the rest.

The names of great men that the year has numbered with the past;

The presidential pot we've had, that's boiled so hot and fast;

The labor strikes; the cholera, that's made us quake with fear,

Have done their part to mark this as a most eventful year.

And then—we lower our voices when we mention this great man—

This is the year that Corbett made mince pie of Sullivan.

And thus the year of ninety-two has faded from our sight,

And added unto History's tome its tale of wrong and right.

The page is blotted here and there and stained with many a tear,

But in the lessons it has taught the characters shine clear.

We long for better things, and yet no pessimists are we;

So let us hope we'll do as well in eighteen ninety-three.