The Death of the Old Year.
Old Year ! thy race is well nigh run ;1
One short quick hour, and thou hast fled2
To the still mansions of the dead ;3
And with thee many a sin forgot—unwept,4
And many an evil thought,5
Have sunk in darkness with thy setting sun,6
To be in darkness kept,7
Till years for aye shall be together brought8
To witness all the deeds that in them have been wrought !9
Old Year ! one last half hour is thine ;10
It fleeteth fast away,11
And will not stay
12
For any prayer of mine.13
The pale moon rides above,14
And hushed is every sound,15
As I pace my solemn round,16
And think on heavenly love.17
Fantastic towers around me rise18
In the light, that half conceals19
The shapes that it reveals20
To my meditative eyes.21
Each pillar seems to say22
“ Thou art of to-day,23
And weepest for the year that now dies ;24
But we have stood unmoved, and seen25
Centuries glide by ;26
And that which is, the same hath been,27
And shall be to Eternity.”28
The shadows gather far and fast,29
And chiller is the air ;30
Old Year ! thy reign has well nigh past,31
Oh ! lowly be my prayer !32
’Tis past ! Old Year, thou art no more,33
But in thy grave art laid ;34
Thy minutes and thy days are o’er—35
So earthly visions fade !36