CHAPTER XXI.
Winter Scene.
Autumn had long been turning the green leaves to gold. A tinge of yellow first appeared upon the trees; then warmer and brighter grew the foliage; the vintage came and ended; the corn-harvest was long stored away, and, like the Roman Empire, more gorgeous in decay than in its prime. The forest stood crowned with a thousand hues,—crowned like a sacrifice of old prepared for death,—prepared to offer up at Nature’s shrine the loveliness she gave.
The most gorgeous of the seasons, Autumn is still the saddest. We look on the fallen leaves and think of friends departed; the useless heaps that lie around the stems remind us of our lost time, and as the winter comes age seems stealing on our brows. Who can say, I shall see spring again? Yet the lesson thus taught us is for our good. Time moves on and brings us to eternity; therefore, is it not well for man that Nature warns him of the lapse of Time?
Nor is winter to us an unpleasant or unprofitable period. In winter we meet again our friends, we gather round our hearths, or meet by theirs those that we love; old friendships are renewed, old ties are strengthened, and by the cheerful fireside we repeat tales of old times,—tales of days that made our country famous; in gaining which fame our fathers bled, and we their descendants receive fresh strength to emulate their deeds.
In the old days, upon our river’s bank, the Germans deemed Christmas more sacred than all other times; for then, they said, “The gods walked upon the earth.”
So should it be. At Christmas, we should with the old year bury our quarrels and our cares; and as our religion teaches, look forward with a sure hope and certain faith to the new year, which assuredly will dawn.
In the dark days of Paganism we can well imagine how men’s minds were affected with the gloom of impending winter; but we are no longer fearful of the coming time, now that we know eternity is open and that we shall live hereafter.