Poems (Storrie)/The New Year
For works with similar titles, see The New Year.
The New Year.
Hush thy breathing for a minute, Tell me, can'st thou hear Music with a magic in it, Like a silver-throated linnet, Singing at thine ear?
Tis the new-born year awaking Every movement harmony, Like a wave melodious breaking, Or long she-oak tassels making Motion, melody.
For the great Creator stringeth, On the thread of Time, Years, like pearls, and each one ringeth Musical, then pendent swingeth, Rounded in a chime.
Close thine eyes to earthly seeming, Tell me, can'st thou see One with white robes softly gleaming, Stepping, from her sisters dreaming, Out to welcome thee?
'Tis the sweet New Year arising, Stretching forth her hand, Fresh from God, to thee devising Gifts well worthy of thy prizing Could'st thou understand.
For a mighty Monarch sendeth This ambassador to thee, From her open palm she lendeth To thy life as she descendeth Opportunity.
Keep this pearl from stain or breaking That it still may ring Musical, when God is making Of thy years a necklet, taking Only such as sing.
Take this sweet New Year, and greet her With an earnest hand, That, when fled, she may be sweeter, And thou need'st not fear to meet her In her native land.