Poems (Dorr)/Eighteen Hundred and Sixty-five

by Julia Caroline Dorr

1865

O darkest Year! O brightest Year!
 O changeful Year of joy and woe,
To-day we stand beside thy bier,
   Still loth to let thee go!

We look upon thy brow, and say,
 "How old he is,—how old and worn!"
Has but a twelvemonth passed away
   Since thou wert newly born?

So long it seems since on the air
 The joy-bells rang to hail thy birth—
And pale lips strove to call thee fair,
   And sing the songs of mirth!

For dark the heavens that o'er thee hung;
 By stormy winds thy couch was rocked;
Thy cradle-hymn the Furies sung,
   While sneering Demons mocked!

We held our very breath for dread;
 Shadowed by clouds, that, like a pall,
Darkened the blue sky overhead,
   And night hung over all.

But thou wert better than our fears,
 And bade our land's long anguish cease
And gave us, O thou Year of years,
   The costly pearl of Peace!

So dearly bought! By precious blood
 Of patriot heroes—sire and son—
And that of him, the pure and good,
   Our wearied, martyred One;

Who bore for us the heavy load—
 The cross our hands upon him laid;
Who trod for us the toilsome road
   Meekly, yet undismayed!

And for that gift—although thy graves
 Lie thick beneath December's snow,
Though every hamlet mourns its braves,
   And bears its weight of woe—

We bless thee! Yet, O bounteous year,
 For more than Peace we thank thee now,
As bending o'er thine honored bier,
   We crown thy pallid brow!

We bless thee, though we scarcely dare
 Give to our new-born joy a tongue;
O mighty Year, upon the air
   Thy voice triumphant rung,

Even in death! and at the sound,
 From myriad limbs the fetters fell
Into the dim and vast profound,
   While tolled thy passing bell!

Farewell, farewell, thou storied Year!
 Thou wondrous Year of joy and gloom!
With grateful hearts we crown thee, ere
   We lay thee in thy tomb!