XVIIINEW YEAR'S EVE
How old our planet looks to-night,
The hoary landscape blind and bare,
The heavy labor of the air,
The dying breath, the dying light!
The hoary landscape blind and bare,
The heavy labor of the air,
The dying breath, the dying light!
What if the year were really new,
And this time-weary world of ours,
Made freshly fair as Eden's bowers,
Were newly launched upon the blue?
And this time-weary world of ours,
Made freshly fair as Eden's bowers,
Were newly launched upon the blue?
What if this wayworn human race,
Clean from its sweat, its dust and grime,
Might cool its steps in morning-prime
And feel the dawn upon its face?
Clean from its sweat, its dust and grime,
Might cool its steps in morning-prime
And feel the dawn upon its face?
And what if I among the rest,
New-waking on a sunrise shore,
Might see the opening day before,
With life unblossomed in my breast?
New-waking on a sunrise shore,
Might see the opening day before,
With life unblossomed in my breast?
Ah! it were but an empty boon
Unless the new arise within;
Since all renewals that begin
Outside the heart grow old so soon.
Unless the new arise within;
Since all renewals that begin
Outside the heart grow old so soon.
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