White Cloud Kansas Chief

Miscellany.

THE WINTERS.

BY FRANCES BROWN.

We did not fear them once-the dull gray mornings
No cheerless burden on our spirits laid;
The long night watches did not bring us warnings
That we were tenants of a house decayed;
The early snows like dreams to us descended;
The frost did fairy-work on pave and bough:
Beauty, and power, and wonder have not ended
How is it that we fear the Winters now?

Their house-fires fall as bright on hearth and chamber;
Their northern starlight shines as coldly clear;
The woods still keep their holly for December;
The world a welcome yet for the new year;
And far away, in old remembered places,
The snow-drop rises and the robin sings:
The sun and moon look out with loving faces-
Why have our days forgot such goodly things!

Is it now the north wind finds us shaken
By tempests fiercer than its bitter blast.
Which fair beliefs and friendships, too, have taken
A way like Summer foliage as they passed,
And made life leafless in its pleasant valleys,
Waning the light of promise from our day
Fell mists meet even in the inward palace-
A dimness not like theirs to pass away.

It was not thus, when dreams of love and laurels
Gave sunlight to the Winters of our youth
Before its hopes had fallen in fortune's quarrels,
Or time had bowed them with its heavy truth
Ere yet the twilights found us strange and lonely
With shadows coming when the fires burn low.
To tell of distant graves and losses only-
The past, that cannot change and will not go.

Alas! dear friends, the Winter is within us;
Hard is the ice that grows about the heart;
For petty cares and vain regrets have won us
From life's true heritage and better part.
Seasons and skies rejoice, yea, worship rather;
But nations toil and tremble even as we,
Hoping for harvests they will never gather.
Fearing the Winters which they may not see.