"The Old Year lies a-dying,"
LE Roi est mort!" is mutter'd round the bed;
"Long live the King!" we cry in louder chorus
We know that, when a year is lying dead,
A year is all before us.
To-night a dozen months of joy and care,
Of ancient fellowships and new dissensions.
Are left behind us; and the frosty air
Is thick with good intentions.
We scarcely heed the lessons of the sun—
His daily risings and his daily settings;
But, when our years are setting one by one
We sum up all regrettings.
Let us recall the losses, not the gains,
Of many a yesterday we spent in sorrow
And count upon the pleasures, not the pains
Of many a bright to-morrow.
Tis well that we should meet the coming year
And what it brings us with a bold reliance;
That we should show a faith without a fear—
A trust with no defiance.
Tis well—since all humanity must brave
The doubtful current of Time's mighty river—
To throw ourselves upon its yawning wave
Without a craven shiver.
Tonight we end one chapter of a book—
From every page some weighty moral gleaning,
And, when the story closes, we may look
To find the Author's meaning.
