End of the old year
End of the old year
Farewell to the Old Year.Wehave came to the close of another year and another volume. In the opposite picture, we see old1844going down into the abyss of thePAST, while the new year, like a youth upon his sled at the top of the hill, is ready to begin his race. The grisly image of Time is standing by, marking the flight of years, and notching down the ineffaceable record upon the cold gray rock of eternity.Well—so it is—so it must be. “Time and tide will wait for no man.” The world rolls round, and what mortal can stay its revolutions? Let us be careful then, to see that this most precious of gifts be diligently and wisely used. If we have spent our time well, we have no reason to lament its departure: if we have used it amiss—if we have squandered it in the pursuit of folly, or used it in the indulgence of sin—then, then indeed we have reason to mourn over its irreparable loss. But the moment we are aware of such an error, let us arrest our downward progress; adopt new and wise resolves, that we may reclaim the loss of the past, as far as may be, by the more diligent and faithful use of the future.And while we talk to others, let not Bob Merry forget his own duty. For the last twelve months, we have plodded on, bringing forth things new and old, to the best of our feeble ability, in fulfilment of our vocation, which is to please and profit our gentle friends and readers. That we have done well, we cannot presume to say; that we have intended well, is all we can venture to assume. Amid the cares and toils of our journey,—the flaws, cross-currents, and tempests of our voyage—we have at least one comfort—perhaps but one—and that is, that our little Black Eyes and Blue are still good-humored, and still cheer us with their confidence and favor. This joyous breeze still fills our sails—and with this encouragement we shall start upon the voyage of 1845.We hope to perform every trip this year, under some new advantages. We not only retain our old publishers, Messrs. Bradbury, Soden & Co.,—who commenced the Museum and have carried it on so successfully through eight volumes—but we have taken on board a new captain,—D. Mead of New York, who is an experienced sailor, and who intends to make a dashing voyage. To drop the metaphor, and speak in plain language—the Museum is hereafter to be issued from two points—the office of Bradbury, Soden & Co.,No.12 School street, Boston, and that of the aforesaid D. Mead, 148 Nassau street, New York. The work will appear with promptitude, and we shall be careful to see that, every month, the patrons of the work shall find a palatable assortment of literary varieties. We shall still be happy to receive the favors of our correspondents, addressed to Bradbury, Soden & Co., 12 School St., Boston.Pleasant Things.MUSIC BY G. J. WEBB.music1. What joy it is from day to day,To skip and sing, and dance and play;To breathe the air, to feel the sun,And o’er the spangled meadows run.To breathe the air, and feel the sun,And o’er the spangled meadows run,And o’er the spangled meadows run.What joy to move my limbs about,To whoop and halloo, call and shout,Among the woods and feel as freeAs any bird upon a tree.What joy, when hungry, ’tis to eat,What pleasure in our daily meat;How sweet, when sleep the eyelids close,To sink in calm and soft repose.But who bestows the constant joyOn every little girl and boy?’Tis God, our Father, great and wise,Whose goodness every joy supplies.Then let me love and praise the Lord,And strive to know his holy word,—To do no wrong, and think no ill,And evermore perform his will.
Wehave came to the close of another year and another volume. In the opposite picture, we see old1844going down into the abyss of thePAST, while the new year, like a youth upon his sled at the top of the hill, is ready to begin his race. The grisly image of Time is standing by, marking the flight of years, and notching down the ineffaceable record upon the cold gray rock of eternity.
Well—so it is—so it must be. “Time and tide will wait for no man.” The world rolls round, and what mortal can stay its revolutions? Let us be careful then, to see that this most precious of gifts be diligently and wisely used. If we have spent our time well, we have no reason to lament its departure: if we have used it amiss—if we have squandered it in the pursuit of folly, or used it in the indulgence of sin—then, then indeed we have reason to mourn over its irreparable loss. But the moment we are aware of such an error, let us arrest our downward progress; adopt new and wise resolves, that we may reclaim the loss of the past, as far as may be, by the more diligent and faithful use of the future.
And while we talk to others, let not Bob Merry forget his own duty. For the last twelve months, we have plodded on, bringing forth things new and old, to the best of our feeble ability, in fulfilment of our vocation, which is to please and profit our gentle friends and readers. That we have done well, we cannot presume to say; that we have intended well, is all we can venture to assume. Amid the cares and toils of our journey,—the flaws, cross-currents, and tempests of our voyage—we have at least one comfort—perhaps but one—and that is, that our little Black Eyes and Blue are still good-humored, and still cheer us with their confidence and favor. This joyous breeze still fills our sails—and with this encouragement we shall start upon the voyage of 1845.
We hope to perform every trip this year, under some new advantages. We not only retain our old publishers, Messrs. Bradbury, Soden & Co.,—who commenced the Museum and have carried it on so successfully through eight volumes—but we have taken on board a new captain,—D. Mead of New York, who is an experienced sailor, and who intends to make a dashing voyage. To drop the metaphor, and speak in plain language—the Museum is hereafter to be issued from two points—the office of Bradbury, Soden & Co.,No.12 School street, Boston, and that of the aforesaid D. Mead, 148 Nassau street, New York. The work will appear with promptitude, and we shall be careful to see that, every month, the patrons of the work shall find a palatable assortment of literary varieties. We shall still be happy to receive the favors of our correspondents, addressed to Bradbury, Soden & Co., 12 School St., Boston.
MUSIC BY G. J. WEBB.
music
1. What joy it is from day to day,To skip and sing, and dance and play;To breathe the air, to feel the sun,And o’er the spangled meadows run.To breathe the air, and feel the sun,And o’er the spangled meadows run,And o’er the spangled meadows run.What joy to move my limbs about,To whoop and halloo, call and shout,Among the woods and feel as freeAs any bird upon a tree.What joy, when hungry, ’tis to eat,What pleasure in our daily meat;How sweet, when sleep the eyelids close,To sink in calm and soft repose.But who bestows the constant joyOn every little girl and boy?’Tis God, our Father, great and wise,Whose goodness every joy supplies.Then let me love and praise the Lord,And strive to know his holy word,—To do no wrong, and think no ill,And evermore perform his will.
1. What joy it is from day to day,To skip and sing, and dance and play;To breathe the air, to feel the sun,And o’er the spangled meadows run.To breathe the air, and feel the sun,And o’er the spangled meadows run,And o’er the spangled meadows run.What joy to move my limbs about,To whoop and halloo, call and shout,Among the woods and feel as freeAs any bird upon a tree.What joy, when hungry, ’tis to eat,What pleasure in our daily meat;How sweet, when sleep the eyelids close,To sink in calm and soft repose.But who bestows the constant joyOn every little girl and boy?’Tis God, our Father, great and wise,Whose goodness every joy supplies.Then let me love and praise the Lord,And strive to know his holy word,—To do no wrong, and think no ill,And evermore perform his will.
1. What joy it is from day to day,To skip and sing, and dance and play;To breathe the air, to feel the sun,And o’er the spangled meadows run.To breathe the air, and feel the sun,And o’er the spangled meadows run,And o’er the spangled meadows run.
1. What joy it is from day to day,
To skip and sing, and dance and play;
To breathe the air, to feel the sun,
And o’er the spangled meadows run.
To breathe the air, and feel the sun,
And o’er the spangled meadows run,
And o’er the spangled meadows run.
What joy to move my limbs about,To whoop and halloo, call and shout,Among the woods and feel as freeAs any bird upon a tree.
What joy to move my limbs about,
To whoop and halloo, call and shout,
Among the woods and feel as free
As any bird upon a tree.
What joy, when hungry, ’tis to eat,What pleasure in our daily meat;How sweet, when sleep the eyelids close,To sink in calm and soft repose.
What joy, when hungry, ’tis to eat,
What pleasure in our daily meat;
How sweet, when sleep the eyelids close,
To sink in calm and soft repose.
But who bestows the constant joyOn every little girl and boy?’Tis God, our Father, great and wise,Whose goodness every joy supplies.
But who bestows the constant joy
On every little girl and boy?
’Tis God, our Father, great and wise,
Whose goodness every joy supplies.
Then let me love and praise the Lord,And strive to know his holy word,—To do no wrong, and think no ill,And evermore perform his will.
Then let me love and praise the Lord,
And strive to know his holy word,—
To do no wrong, and think no ill,
And evermore perform his will.