Poems (Hinxman)/On a beautiful New Year's Morning

by Emmeline Hinxman

ON A BEAUTIFUL NEW YEAR'S MORNING.

O newly come! I thought of thee
 With grudging heart last night;
I held thy hoary father's robe,
 And fain had stayed his flight.

And when I knew his hour was come,
 And felt him sweeping by,
I bowed, and wept, like an orphan child,
 Till all my tears were dry.

The pains he brought me softened down,
 And seemed like pensive pleasures;
The pleasures gained a threefold worth,
 Inestimable treasures!

I would have none of thee; I shut
 Mine ears from midnight's chime,
Lest I should hear thy bark approach
 Upon the tides of Time.

'Twas well I felt the parting sad,
 He was an ancient friend;
'Twas ill I would not hail the new
 Which God was pleased to send.

I rise, and with an altered mood
 These smiling meadows pace;
See thee already on the earth
 Installed in youthful grace.

Nature hath to her kindly heart
 The fair young stranger taken,
And taught her children for thy sake
 A jubilee to waken.

The graceful shadows on the hill
 Seem bowing down to greet thee,
And little breezes, busy, blithe,
 Run o'er the trees to meet thee.

And wakening at their news, the trees
 Their branches bare uplift;
They know that folded in thy lap
 Lies many a pleasant gift,—

Gifts of warm showers in balmy spring,
 And slumbrous summer heat,
When birds shall love their boughs, and flocks
 Shall gather at their feet;

When through their maze of glossy leaves
 Shall sportive sunbeams shoot,
And generous strength shall fill their veins
 For blossom or for fruit.

Nor they alone: O well I wot
 These valleys and these hills,
And these smooth pasture-breadths, the same
 Presentient pleasure fills.

Fair comer! shall I then alone
 Turn churlishly from thee?
And think thy store is only void
 Of some kind gift for me?

Ah, surely no! and who can tell
 How many, and how bright,
What treasures of long hopes fulfilled,
 Or unforeseen delight?

And if not so, yet over earth
 Flows in too bounteous measure
The stream of bliss, for any heart
 To lack some taste of pleasure.

And brought'st thou me a single joy,
 Though lonely it should be,
As the late flowers that winter finds,
 Or island on the sea;

Yet I for this will take thy hand,
 And bid thee hail, new year!
And pace with thee through all thy months
 In thankful, friendly cheer;

With thee will mount one other step
 Upon the golden stair,
And if I live to hear thy knell
 Make sad the midnight air:

While no less kind adieu I yield
 To thee than to thy sire,—
Will to thy child stretch hopeful hands,
 And bid him lead me higher.

Jan, 1849.