Address to the New Year.
O good New Year! we clasp
This warm, shut hand of thine,
Loosing forever, with half sigh, half grasp,
That which from ours falls like dead fingers’ twine.
Ay, whether fierce its grasp
Has been, or gentle, having been, we know
That it was blessed: let the old year go.
Friend, come thou like a friend;
And, whether bright thy face,
Or dim with clouds we cannot comprehend,
We’ll hold our patient hands, each in his place,
And trust thee to the end,
Knowing thou leadest onwards to those spheres
Where there are neither days nor months nor years.
A New Year.
Why do we greet thee, O blithe New Year!
What are thy pledges of mirth and cheer?
Comest, knight-errant, the wrong to right?
Comest to scatter our gloom with light?
Wherefore the thrill, the sparkle and shine,
In heart and eyes at a word of thine?
The old was buoyant, the old was true,
The old was brave when the old was new.
He crowned us often with grace and gift;
His sternest skies had a deep blue rift.
Straight and swift, when his hand unclasped,
With welcome and joyance thine we grasped.
O tell us, Year—we are fain to know—
What is thy charm that we hail thee so?
Dost promise much that is fair and sweet—
The wind’s low stir in the rippling wheat,
The waves’ soft plash on the sandy floor,
The bloom of roses from shore to shore,
Glance of wings from the bowery nest,
Music and perfume from east to west,
Frosts to glitter in jeweled rime,
Blush of sunrise at morning’s prime,
Stars above us their watch to keep,
And rain and dew, though we wake or sleep?
Once more a voice, and I hear it call
Like a bugle-note from a mountain wall;
The pines uplift it with mighty sound,
The billows bear it the green earth round;
A voice that rolls in a jubilant song,
A conqueror’s ring in its echo strong;
Through the ether clear, from the solemn sky
The New Year beckons, and makes reply:
“I bring you, friends, what the years have brought
Since ever men toiled, aspired, or thought—
Days for labor, and nights for rest;
And I bring you love, a heaven-born guest;
Space to work in, and work to do,
And faith in that which is pure and true.
Hold me in honor and greet me dear,
And sooth you’ll find me a Happy Year.”
Harper’s Bazar.
A Wish.
If I could find the Little Year,
The Happy Year, the glad New Year—
If I could find him setting forth
To seek the ancient track—
I’d bring him here, the Little Year,
Like a peddler with his pack.
And all of golden brightness,
And nothing dull or black,
And all that heart could fancy,
And all that life could lack,
Should be your share of the peddlers ware,
When he undid his pack.
The best from out his treasure
A smile of yours would coax,
And then we’d speed him on his way,
At midnight’s failing strokes;
And bid him hurry round the world,
And serve the other folks!
Another Year.
Sweetly hath passed the year; the seasons came
Duly as they were wont, the gentle spring,
And the delicious summer, and the cool,
Rich autumn, with the nodding of the grain,
And winter, like an old and hoary man,
Frosty and stiff—and so are chronicled.
We have read gladness in the new green leaf,
And in the first-blown violets; we have drunk
Cool water from the rock, and in the shade
Sunk to the noontide slumber; we have plucked
The mellow fruitage of the bending tree,
And girded to our pleasant wanderings.
When the cool winds came freshly from the hills,
And when the tinting of the autumn leaves
Had faded from its glory, we have sat
By the good fires of winter, and rejoiced
Over the fullness of the gathered sheaf.
The Child and the Year.
Said the child to the youthful year:
“What hast thou in store for me,
O giver of beautiful gifts! what cheer,
What joy dost thou bring with thee?”
“My seasons four shall bring
Their treasures: the winter’s snows,
The autumn’s store, and the flowers of spring,
And the summer’s perfect rose.
“All these and more shall be thine,
Dear child,—but the last and best
Thyself must earn by a strife divine,
If thou wouldst be truly blest.
“Wouldst know this last, best gift?
’Tis a conscience clear and bright,
A peace of mind which the soul can lift
To an infinite delight.
“Truth, patience, courage, and love,
If thou unto me canst bring,
I will set thee all earth’s ills above,
O child! and crown thee a king!”
We are bound, by every rule of justice and equity, to give the New Year credit for being a good one until he proves himself unworthy the confidence we repose in him.—Charles Dickens.