And shines beneath an arc of golden sky,
Pinked round with pointed pines.
A noble scene! all breadth, deep tone and power,
Suggesting glorious themes;
Shaming the idler who would fill the hour
With unsubstantial dreams.
Be mine the dreams prophetic, shadowing forth
The things that yet shall be,
When through this gate the treasures of the North
Flow outward to the sea.
THE PASSING OF THE YEAR.
Worn and poor,
The Old Year came to Eternity's door.
Once, when his limbs were young and strong,
From that shining portal came he forth,
Led by the sound of shout and song,
To the festive halls of jubilant earth;—
Now, his allotted cycle o'er,
He waited, spent, by the Golden Door.
Faint and far—faint and far,
Surging up soft between sun and star,
Strains of revelry smote his ear;
Musical murmurs from lyre and lute—
Rising in choruses grand and clear,
Sinking in cadences almost mute—
Vexing the ear of him who sate
Wearied beside the Shining Gate.
Sad and low,
Flowed in an undertone of woe:
Wailing among the moons it came,
