T is the birth-morn of another year,Which from her mother's ashes bounding forth,With silent footsteps rises on the world,Like her to dawn, like her to pass away.Hail! child of Time! what thousand eyes now turnTo mark with anxious gaze thy being's morn,And strive to scan thine unrevealed career!But o'er thy future hours a veil is cast,—To some of laughing hues both bright and gay,Thick strewn with hope's glad forms of coming joy;To others dark and sad, for many a heartStill feels the clouds of yon departed yearO'ercast her daughter's untried scenes with gloom,And clothe the visioned Future's dreamy formsWith shades of sorrow past. Yet hail to thee!I look with hope upon thy coming hours,And trust that mercies, boundless as the past,May still encompass round my onward way.
'Tis Winter's noon of darkness. Nature sleepsIn dreariness and death, awaiting stillThe spring-time sunshine to dispel her gloom,And clothe again with beauty all her scenes.I will go forth and breathe the chilling air,And as I tread the leaf-strewn paths, will museOn all the mingling memories of the past,And prospects of the future. Though to meThe stream of life as yet has smoothly flowed,Yet still its placid surface can reflectThe clouds as well as sunlight of the skies;And in the parted year, like all the rest,'Mid happiest hours, to Memory precious still,Some shadows rest,—some recollected clouds,That dimmed awhile e'en blessings held most dear;And much loved converse, which, though past, can shedRemembered sweetness o'er mine inmost soul,And will, I trust, rejoice my heart again,Oft, oft, and soon. Yet passing clouds there wereOf disappointed hopes, bright visions flown,And dreams dispelled. Hush, hush! vain thoughts!Come back, ye restless wanderings of the mind,Nor e'en with lightest pinion touch to lifeThose scarcely slumbering hopes and wishes vainI fain would lull to rest. Oh, rather thinkOf all the thousand blessings undeserved,That girdle round my onward path of lifeWith countless mercies,—new each new-born day,And never-failing still!I—Their ceaseless voiceShould silence every whispered murmur's sound,And fill with grateful love that thankless heart,Which knows not what is best!Which knows not what is best!Farewell thou Past!For thee, O Future! all alike must feelHow dim the eye that strives to pierce thy gloom,How weak the power that fain would shape thy course;And bow in consciousness another Hand,A mightier Arm, must lead them on their way,And cast the lot they take but cannot choose.
Oh! merciful it is, that o'er that lotA shadow rests no mortal eye can pierce,No light can chase away. That blesséd cloudIs Hope's eternal dwelling! There she rests,Enthroned upon the Future's misty form,And lifts on high her torch, which oft can turnIts darkness into clear though distant day.
And unto thee, for whom this wreath was twined,To greet the morning of the new-born year,Oh, let it now convey the wish and prayer,That Heaven's best blessings, earth's most holy joys,And mercies ever new, may gild thy lot,Shed gathering lustre o'er thine onward way,And crown each year which yet shall rise for thee.
T is the birth-morn of another year,Which from her mother's ashes bounding forth,With silent footsteps rises on the world,Like her to dawn, like her to pass away.Hail! child of Time! what thousand eyes now turnTo mark with anxious gaze thy being's morn,And strive to scan thine unrevealed career!But o'er thy future hours a veil is cast,—To some of laughing hues both bright and gay,Thick strewn with hope's glad forms of coming joy;To others dark and sad, for many a heartStill feels the clouds of yon departed yearO'ercast her daughter's untried scenes with gloom,And clothe the visioned Future's dreamy formsWith shades of sorrow past. Yet hail to thee!I look with hope upon thy coming hours,And trust that mercies, boundless as the past,May still encompass round my onward way.
T is the birth-morn of another year,Which from her mother's ashes bounding forth,With silent footsteps rises on the world,Like her to dawn, like her to pass away.Hail! child of Time! what thousand eyes now turnTo mark with anxious gaze thy being's morn,And strive to scan thine unrevealed career!But o'er thy future hours a veil is cast,—To some of laughing hues both bright and gay,Thick strewn with hope's glad forms of coming joy;To others dark and sad, for many a heartStill feels the clouds of yon departed yearO'ercast her daughter's untried scenes with gloom,And clothe the visioned Future's dreamy formsWith shades of sorrow past. Yet hail to thee!I look with hope upon thy coming hours,And trust that mercies, boundless as the past,May still encompass round my onward way.