III

Then saw I how the New Year
Came like a scheming man,
With icy eyes, his forehead
Wrinkled by care and plan

For trade and rule and profit.
To him the fading child
Looked up and cried, "Oh, brother!"
But died even while it smiled.

Down bent the harsh new-comer
To lift with loving arm
The wanderer mute and fallen;
And lo! his eyes were warm;

All changed he grew; the wrinkles
Vanished: he, too, looked young—
As if that lost child's spirit
Into his breast had sprung.

So are those lives not wasted,
Too frail to bear the fray.
So Years may die, yet leave us
Young hearts in a world grown gray.