Untitled article | AdventAI

The Seventh-day Adventist Publishing Association · Battle Creek, Mich. · Third-day, December 31, 1867

THE OLD YEAR AND THE NEW.

I saw the Old Year; he was lying on a bed of gathered leaves. The grass around was brown and withered; save here and there, close by the edge of the snow-patches, where it retained somewhat of its greenness. The turf was almost as hard as the pike—the smooth and stony pike, that glared in the lamp-light, and rung under the rattling hoofs and wheels of the passing mail. Of course, it was a secluded spot: away from the tide, with its ships and steamboats; and away from the wire, the rail, and the whistle. The spring gurgled out from the hill-side; but was almost hidden by the long icicles that hung thick from the moss-line, on the front of the over-jutting rock, down to the very basin of the fountain, nor was it seen long, for, as it came out between the icicles, it slipped under the ice that covered its channel, and again found itself almost as much in the dark as it was before it escaped from the inner crevices of the hill. Over the rude couch of the dying year, the trees spread their leafless, snow-sprinkled branches, as though they would gladly have sheltered him if they could; and the breeze moaned by his side, as tenderly as though a woman's sympathy had touched it into piteous sweetness. The air was very keen, and very clear: and the barking of the distant watch dog, startled by that passing mail, sounded loud and fierce, as if on the very border of the glen.

That glen was thronged with an almost innumerable spiritual multitude. The four seasons were there. The twelve months were there. The fifty-two weeks were there. Three hundred and sixty-five days were there. Three hundred and sixty-five nights were there. More than half a million minutes were there. And more than thirty millions of seconds were there. The seasons were distinguished by the varied color of their robes—white, green, yellow, and purple. The months had a fillet of silver net-work on every forehead, adorned with a crescent of shining pearl. The weeks wore a seven-hued girdle, with a brilliant clasp—adorned with an altar, olive-branch and trumpet. The days bore an image of the sun on every breast-plate. The nights held a star, downward, on the head of every sceptre. The hours, minutes, and seconds, carried each a miniature diamond-chronometer: those of the hours, with an hour-hand alone; those of the minutes, with a minute-hand alone; and those of the seconds, with a second-hand alone.

The pale Patriarch, thus surrounded by his immense host of descendants, summoned me into his immediate presence. I passed through the parted lines, and knelt by his humble pallet. “I have called you hither”—said he—“not for your own sake alone, but, for the sake of the church and congregation to which you minister. I have called you to commit to you, for them, my last and most solemn message. I am only one of

the six thousand Princes of time. Time is the son of eternity. Eternity is the son of God. Next to his being the Father of the Lord Jesus Christ, the most glorious title the Almighty bears, is that of the Father of eternity! From eternity, down to the youngest second, all ages, and years, and seasons, and months, and weeks, and days, and nights, and hours, and minutes, are his messengers: intrusted with his richest benefits, and commissioned to bear them to man. My mission, like that of my predecessors, is ended. Before their departure, they reminded you of God's goodness. Before my departure, I remind you of the same. My office has been one of ceaseless love. If you marvel that I am encompassed by such a host, I have only to inform you, that they have been my faithful assistants as well as my affectionate children; and that the reason of their multitude is the multitude of God's benefits to man. A smaller number would fail to distribute his abounding mercies. There is not one, in all this array, who has not been thus employed.”

“Ere I die!”—he continued—“I will question them in your presence, and you must report their testimony to the worshipers in the sanctuary:

“SEASONS!—What have you given to man?” And the four Seasons answered—“God's benefits!”

“MONTHS!—What have you given to man?” And the twelve Months answered—“God's benefits!”

“WEEKS!—What have you given to man?” And the fifty-two Weeks answered—“God's benefits!”

“DAYS!—What have you given to man?” And the three hundred and sixty-five Days answered—“God's benefits!”

“NIGHTS!—What have you given to man?” And the three hundred and sixty-five Nights answered—“God's benefits!”

“HOURS!—What have you given to man?” And the nearly nine thousand Hours answered—“God's benefits!”

“MINUTES!—What have you given to man?” And the half-million Minutes answered—“God's benefits!”

“SECONDS!—What have you given to man?” And the thirty millions of Seconds answered—“God's benefits!”

“Servant of God!”—said he—“Ministers of Christ! You have heard their uniform answers. With my own fast-failing breath I confirm their truth. I have super-intended their toil. I know that our whole mission has been occupied in the distribution of ‘God's benefits.’ Return to your charge! The chapel will be open and illumined. The people will be assembled. You anticipate the solemnity of the occasion; and honestly and earnestly desire their profit. Tell them, that you have seen the dying year. Tell them, that they themselves must die. Tell them, that when their own death-time shall come, the world will be withered around them, as it is now withered around me! Tell them, that they, too, must lie down on the dead leaves of their summer prosperity! Tell them, that every garden of pleasure will then be as desolate to them, as are now these fields of nature to me—the verdure all wasted, the trees all stripped, the streams all frozen, and the air crisp, and cold and still! Tell them, that they will then have but one hope, as I have now! See!”—said the weary and dying pilgrim—lifting his kindling eye, and pointing, with his finger to the heavens—“See! though the sphere of my labor on earth is all blighted and drear—no change is there! Or, if, in that high place of reward, there be any change, it is only for the better. Behold! the blue skies are bluer now, and the bright stars brighter now than they were in mid-summer. Nothing withers or declines there! There is the inheritance which is incorruptible, and undefiled, and that fadeth not away! That is my hope: that is their hope: that is our only hope! But, thank God! it is a sufficient and glorious hope!

“Go!—and tell them, that ‘God's benefits’ begin with life, but do not end with death; that they commence on earth only to multiply in Heaven: and that, while they enrich us in time, they will endure throughout eternity! Go!—and tell them, the old Year—looking back from his pallet of dry leaves to scenes of freshest beauty and bliss; and looking up, from this wasted world to a universe of imperishable grace, glory, and rapture—breathes out his last prayer in their behalf, that every one among them may immediately and solemnly consider the great and pressing question, asking, with the Psalmist—‘What shall I render unto the Lord for all his benefits toward me?’—and answering with the Psalmist, also—‘I will take the cup of salvation, and call upon the name of the Lord. I will pay my vows unto the Lord, now, in the presence of all his people!’”

So saying, the dying year drew from his bosom a many-leafed scroll, and put it into my hand, saying: “Take this scroll. You will find it composed of hundreds of messages, severally addressed to your hearers. Distribute them, as a final token of my regard for them! But see!” said the fainting Old Year, kindling again as he spoke—“see! they come!”

As he spoke, a pale, long-drawn light, as though the milky way was settling earthward, descended through the thin air, and rested, like a glimmering mist, on the dusky range of the horizon hills. I rose, gazed, and drew back from the coming of one, glowing with angels' glory, and yet with the countenance of a younger brother of the waiting pilgrim. He stooped by the humble pallet: and the leaves, and grass, and snow, and icicles, and frosted trees, and hills, all glittered with a golden sheen! Behind him, fairer seasons, and months, and weeks, and days, and nights, and hours, and minutes, and seconds, in far-gleaming perspective, dimly waved their line. I saw the New Year kiss the Old: and the Old arose at that token, and stood by his brother's side, and acknowledged him as his successor, and resigned the sceptre to him, and embraced him, and blessed him, and bowed to his attendants, and then beckoned to his own, and ascended with them softly and beautifully as the scintillations of the aurora, vanishing at last among the conscious and welcoming stars. The New Year and his host glanced, smiling at the quick and happy transit: and then dispersed on errands of mercy, through all the earth; to meet again, when another New Year shall hang out his signal in the sky, and come to enter on his reign.

But lo! the New Year stands in the aisle! I see his angel beauty; and welcome him among us. One of the seasons is with him—the white-robed Winter. One of the months is with him—with the fillet of silver net-work, and crescent of shining pearl. One of the weeks is with him—with the seven-hued girdle, and brilliant clasp; adorned with the altar, olive-branch, and trumpet. One of the days is with him—bearing the image of the sun on his breast-plate. One of the nights is with him—holding up a star, on the head of the sceptre. Twelve hours are with him; and more than seven hundred minutes, and more than forty thousand seconds, are waiting without.

“Why art thou here?” thou youthful Prince of Time!

“I am here”—he answers—“to strengthen your appeal. I am here, to promise a continuance of ‘God's benefits’ to those who shall honor his cause. I am here, to say to the people—If, during all my term, ye would have every month, and week, and day, and night, and hour, and minute, and even every second, bless you—attend to the blended interests of personal and social salvation: cherish the church, which Christ hath purchased with his own blood.”

“I cannot, indeed,”—he proceeded—“make special promises. It is not mine to say—Whether the body shall live or die; whether the soul shall retain its powers, or lose them; whether the family shall remain united, or be separated; whether business shall flourish, or decline; whether civil and ecclesiastical relations shall be strengthened, or impaired; or whether chastenings shall be many or few, slight or severe. But this I must and do aver—that he who remembers ‘God's benefits’ toward him, during the term of my predecessor, with the most grateful devotion, has the greatest reason to hope for their renewal and increase throughout my own. At any rate, whatever the guise in which they come, ‘all things work together for good to them that love God.’”

But why does the New Year kneel in the aisle? And his train—why kneel they all?

Behold! A still diviner form stands by the table! He, who, of old, when “the door was shut,” came in among the disciples, and stood in their midst, and said, “Peace be unto you!” and showed them his wounds, and accepted their homage, and confirmed their faith—even he has entered here. Behold him! Hear him!

“Ye are my witnesses!” “This do in remembrance of me.” “Take the cup of salvation, and call upon the name of your Lord. Pay your vows unto your Lord, now, in the presence of all my people.”

Is it not Jesus? Let us pray!—Christian Unionist.