Poems (Griffith)/The Close of the Year

by Mattie Griffith

The Close of the Year.

ANOTHER and another! 'Tis the still
And solemn hour of midnight. Not a sound
Of mortal life disturbs the awful calm
That rests upon the dim and sleeping earth.
'Twould seem as if a wizard spell were laid
Upon the winds, the woods, the waves, the streams
For all the thousand voices that are wont,
In this deep hour of darkness and of dreams,
To weave their low, mysterious cadences
In one wild chant of spirit-melody,
Are silent now, and there is naught to tell
The ear that Nature lives. The holy stars,
The watchers of the night, are burning faint,
Like funeral lamps; the dark cloud-shadows rest
Upon the still earth like a pall; the hills
And mountains stand like mourners; the tall trees,
Leafless ,red solemn, bend their tops like plumes
Above the bier; and lo! a countless throng
Of wan and ghastly phantoms seem to come
From the dim realm of shadows, to convey
The Old Year to his burial.

              He is gone!
He breathed no sigh or groan in his death-hour,
But with the awful stillness of a dream,
Passed to the mystic realm whine dwell the shades
Of years that passed before him. One more wave,
Bright with our smiles and bitter with our tears,
A wave that has reflected star and cloud,
The blue sky and the tempest's wrath, is lost
In the great ocean of Eternity,
Whose dark and dread and shoreless waters hide
The wrecks of empires and the wrecks of worlds
From every eye but God's.

              Ah! gazing back
Upon the parted year, we darkly mourn
Its rich and wasted treasures. We recall,
With keen remorse, life's follies and its crimes,
And tears are swelling in our stricken hearts—
Vain tears, alas how vain! And see! beside
The shadowy spectre of the silent Past,
A sad and sorrowing Angel seems to stand,
Who, in a tone as mournful as the cry
Of a lost soul, rebukes us for our deeds
Of error, and implores us to be true
To earth and Heaven in all the coming time
That may be ours beneath the skies.

                   Here, here,
At one year's burial and another's birth,
Here, on this narrow isthmus in the sea,
Time's ever surging sea, oh let us pause
And deeply muse upon the two vast worlds,
Spread out on either hand before our eyes,
The Past and Future. From this lonely height,
Straining our gaze far backward o'er the plain
That we have swiftly traversed, we behold,
All thickly scattered o'er the dreary space,
Unnumbered mounds, which mark the graves of joys,
And loves, and hopes that thronged around our path,
To charm our eyes and win our happy hearts
By theft sweet smiles and wild enchanting tones,
And then sank down to mingle with the dust,
Like exhalations of the morning. We
Look earnestly upon the fairy vales,
Where, in life's spring-time hours, we lingered long
To gather garlands of sweet flowers to deck
The heart's own altars—but no flowers are there.
The Autumn winds and Winter tempests swept
Above their blooming loveliness, and they
Perished in their bright beauty, and their souls
Of perfume passed to Heaven. With wearied eyes,
And sad and aching hearts, we turn away
From the lone desolations of the past,
To gaze upon Futurity, and there,
Through the long vista of the years, we see,
With fancy's eye, rich vales, as beautiful
As those through which in childhood's hours we roved
And there, joys, hopes, and loves, as fresh and bright
As those which sprang and perished by our side,
Seem flitting in the distance, wild and free,
And sweetly beckoning us to where they dwell,
Like a young troop of Fairies.

                A New Year,
A new, unsullied year, is ours. Its page
Is sealed; we know not what is folded there;
We know not whether joy or agony
We know not whether life or death, is writ
Within the fearful scroll, but 'tis enough
To know the gift is God's. Within our breasts,
Amid love's blasted buds, joy's faded wreaths,
And hope's pale withered garlands, one bright flower
Is still uncrushed, undimmed, the holy flower
Of Faith divine. We feel, we know that He,
Who hath preserved us 'mid the thousand ills,
The countless dangers lurking in our paths,
Still holds us in the hollow of His hand,
And bids us trust in Him.

              Farewell, Old Year !
May we, when called, like thee, from earth away,
Obey. like thee, the summons, calm, serene,
Without one sigh, or groan, or wild heart-throb
To mark the moment of dissolving life.
And oh may we, within the Eden land,
Where angel wings are glancing through the air,
And seraph songs are poured from rainbow clouds,
Once more embrace the loved and lost whom thou
Hast taken from us in thy silent flight.