Poems (Brown)/A Midnight Vision
A MIDNIGHT VISION.
'Tis the last night of the Old Year, And I turn, with tearful eye,To gaze on the ceaseless ticking clock, And see the goddess die.
Silently, tearfully, there she stands, With a wreath upon her brow—A wreath of forget-me-nots, faded and worn: Hush! she is speaking now!
"I am fading, child of vision, Leaving joy and mirth behind;With my garments drawn about me, Sink I to my death-bed kind.
"I remember my bright birthday, And my playmates kind and true—How we rambled in the meadows, Underneath the sky of blue.
"I remember, too, my childhood, When I ventured to this earth:I have heard the moans of sorrow, I have heard the songs of mirth.
"I have seen the poor and trembling Crushed beneath the rich and proud;But my pains and joys are ended; Close I draw my heavy shroud.
"For on yonder cloud of brightness Floats my little sister fair,And her small white hands are weaving Crowns of roses for her hair."
Hushed her tones were for a moment; Down her cheeks there rolled a tear;And I looked to where she pointed, And beheld the glad New Year.
Light her voice was, sweet her smile; Gay and happy was her face;And she proudly, and with triumph, Took her long, long wished-for place.
In her small and taper fingers She a gilded book was holding;And the pages, spotless, pure, Its bright covers were enfolding.
I saw the "Old Year" venture near, With pale and tearful eye:"You've just begun to live," she said; "My time has come to die.
"The book you hold is clean and fresh, But mine is soiled and worn,Its pages blotted, its covers old, The pictures from it torn.
'Although the task was sad for me, Each daily thought of sin,I in this book, so soiled and worn, Have penned it down therein.
"But now my work on earth is done, My heaven-born sister fair;And unfading seem the roses In your bright and golden hair.
"But fading is my coronet, While brighter grows my crown;Now all my painful tasks are o'er, Gladly I lay me down."
I looked around in vain surprise To clasp a mournful form;But I, alas, was all alone My vision—it had gone.
Next morn the breezes whispered mild, The bells were ringing clear,Proclaiming, with a joyful sound, The birth of the glad "New Year."