THE COMING OF THE NEW YEAR.
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With her sable curtains hanging,Hanging like a pall of mourning,While the stars, like eyes of angels,In whose sweet and holy glancesLove and sorrow both are mingled,Through those sable folds were gleaming,—Yes, the Midnight, calm and holy,Spoke at last the solemn warning;To the Old Year, sad and sighing,Whispered softly, "Thou art dying." And the Old Year, sad and grieving,Wrapped his mantle close about him,Crossed the bound'ries of the present,With the past was linked forever.
Through the golden gates of morningCame the sweet Day laughing gayly;Bringing in her joy and gladnessSmiles of welcome for the New Year.And the Day's bright eyes were tearless;For she thought not of the Old Year;Had not heard his words of parting,Nor his sighs of grief and anguish.For although the Day was lovelyWith her innocence and beauty,With her smiles and merry laughter,Yet the Old Year in his sorrow
