The Parting of the Old Year—The Coming of the New Year

All night long, strange, dirgelike voicesFloated wildly on the night-winds,Whisp'ring this one word, "To-morrow."And the Midnight said, "'To-morrow?'What, O Night-winds, of 'To-morrow?'"And the dirgelike voices answered,"Know'st thou not, O solemn Midnight,Knowest thou not that on the morrowComes the parting of the Old Year?Hark! e'en now we hear him sighing,Though he knows not he is dying,To the Old Year, sad and sighing,Who will whisper, 'Thou art dying?'"And the solemn Midnight answered,"Wait until the dawn of morning;Wait, and let the sweet Day whisperTo the Old Year, sad and sighing,Whisper softly, 'Thou art dying.'"So they waited till the morning.But the sweet Day, gently weepingTill soft mists her eyelids covered,Said, "Oh, no, I cannot whisperTo the Old Year, sad and sighing,Cannot whisper, 'Thou art dying.'"Quickly then the mists dispersing,Op'ning wide her eyes of beauty,Looked she on the earth so joyous.But the Old Year, though he knew notThat his hours were almost numbered,Gazed upon her face in sadness.And the Day, now gay and merry,Dropped from out her fairy fingersGleaming sunbeams, bright and golden,Till they rested like a haloRound his brow, so pale and wrinkled.When the laughing Day departed,And her golden beams no longerRested 'mong his locks so hoary,Then the Old Year watched her sadly,Till her robes of gold and purple,Trailing down the western heavens,Were obscured by Twilight's shadows.And the Twilight would not whisperTo the Old Year, sad and sighing,Would not whisper, "Thou art dying."So the Midnight, deep and solemn,With her sable curtains hanging,Hanging like a pall of mourning,While the stars, like eyes of angels,In whose sweet and holy glancesLove and sorrow both are mingled,Through those sable folds were gleaming,—Yes, the Midnight, calm and holy,Spoke at last the solemn warning;To the Old Year, sad and sighing,Whispered softly, "Thou art dying."And the Old Year, sad and grieving,Wrapped his mantle close about him,Crossed the bound'ries of the present,With the past was linked forever.

Through the golden gates of morningCame the sweet Day laughing gayly;Bringing in her joy and gladnessSmiles of welcome for the New Year.And the Day's bright eyes were tearless;For she thought not of the Old Year;Had not heard his words of parting,Nor his sighs of grief and anguish.For although the Day was lovelyWith her innocence and beauty,With her smiles and merry laughter,Yet the Old Year in his sorrowFound in Night's calm, gentle spiritSomething deeper, and more sacred,Than the Day, so gay and merry,Carried with her own gay spirit.So when came the hour of parting,All his griefs and all his sorrowsTo the list'ning Night he whispered.Thus it ever is with mortals;For of all the deep emotionsGushing from the soul's pure fountains,Those we hold to be most sacred,Give we ever to the keepingOf the Night, so calm and holy.For the Night unseals those fountains,While perchance come thoughts so holy,Fraught with such a mystic meaning,Mortal lips can never speak them.

But the Day, so gay and merry,Flung her golden beams as freelyRound the young brow of the New Year,As so lately she had placed them,Half in glee and half in sadness,Round the pale brow of the Old Year.And the New Year, too, laughed gayly,As if death, and pain, and sorrow,As if all that grieves and saddens,From this earth had fled forever.

But we, too, would bring a greetingUnto thee, O laughing New Year!Bring a hopeful, tender greeting,And these words to thee would whisper,"Be to us a happy New Year."For though oft the soul grows strongerIf it pass with holy patience'Neath o'erhanging clouds of sorrow;If it bow not to the tempest,To the fierce, rough blast of sorrow;While the blue skies smile above us,While the flowers unfold around us,Must we ever love Joy's sunlightBetter far than Woe's dark storm-cloud.And, O New Year! gazing kindlyIn thy face, so bright and cheerful,Thus it is we come to greet theeWith a hopeful, tender greeting;Thus we greet thee, still repeating,"Be to us a happy New Year."