SONNET: TO THE OLD YEAR.
Good-by, Old Year! we wait to greet the New,
And hope within its circling hours to see
More of content and less of misery.
Yet, haply, all life’s toilsome journey through,
No happier scenes than thine will meet our view;
If so, we humbly bow to Heaven’s decree,
With hearts, though wounded, still as firm and true
As when we first knelt to the Deity.
Many will weep, Old Year! while thou dost lay
Thine aged head within the voiceless tomb.
We weep, yet on the clouds of grief doth play
The bow of promise, lighting up their gloom.
Not so with many hearts that crushed and bleeding lie,
Whose only thought of gladness is like thee to die!
Brooklyn, Dec., 1843. Hans Von Spiegel.