Poems (Bushnell)/Out of the Old, the New
VIOUT OF THE OLD, THE NEW
How strange that not in springtime fair,
When gentle winds run to and fro;
But, trembling in the frosty air,
The New Year blossoms on the snow.
When gentle winds run to and fro;
But, trembling in the frosty air,
The New Year blossoms on the snow.
That not in morning's lovely bloom,
With silver chimes and merry din,
But slowly through the midnight gloom
The great bell swings the New Year in.
With silver chimes and merry din,
But slowly through the midnight gloom
The great bell swings the New Year in.
Ah, life in death! Ah, gain in loss!
And smiles in eyes that tears bedew;
Love, with its pain,—Heaven, through a cross,—
'Tis ever thus our years grow new.
And smiles in eyes that tears bedew;
Love, with its pain,—Heaven, through a cross,—
'Tis ever thus our years grow new.