Give back the dreams of fame,
The aspirations strong for glory won;
Hopes that went out perchance when set thy sun,
Nor left nor trace nor name:
Give back the wasted hours, half-uttered prayer,
The high resolves forgot that stained thine annals fair.
Give back the flow of thought,
That woke within the poet's yearning breast,
Soothing its wild and passionate unrest;
Love's rainbow-visions, wrought
Of youth's deep, fearless trust, that light the scroll
With an intenser glow,—records of heart and soul!
Give back—for thou hast more—
Give back the kindly words we loved so well,
Voices, whose music on the spirit fell,
But tenderness to pour;
The steps that never now around us tread,
Faces that haunt our sleep: give back, give back the dead.
Give back!—who shall explore
Creation's boundless realms to mark thy prey?
Who mount where man has never thought to sway,
Or science dared to soar?
Oh! who shall tell what suns have set for aye,
What worlds gone out, what systems passed away?
Not till the stars shall fall,
And earth and sky before God's mandate flee,
Shall human vision look, or spirit see,
Beneath thy mystic pall:
But hark! with accent clear, and flute-like swell,
Floats up the New Year's voice,—Departed one, farewell!
SONG OF THE NEW YEAR.
As the bright flowers start from their wintry tomb,
I've sprung from the depths of futurity's gloom;
With the glory of Hope on my unshadowed brow,
But a fear at my heart, earth welcomes me now.
I come and bear with me a measureless flow,
Of infinite joy and of infinite woe:
The banquet's light jest and the penitent prayer,
The sweet laugh of gladness, the wail of despair,
The warm words of welcome, and broken farewell,
The strains of rich music, the funeral knell,
The fair bridal wreath, and the robe for the dead,
O how will they meet in the path I shall tread!
O how will they mingle where'er I pass by,
As sunshine and storm in the rainbow on high!
Yet start not, nor shrink from the race I must run;
I've peace and repose for the heart-stricken one,
And strength for the weary who fail in the strife,
And falter before the great warfare of Life.
I've love for the friendless; a morrow of light
For him who is wrapped in adversity's night;
With trust for the doubting, a field for the soul,
That has dared from its loftier purpose to stroll,
To haste to the conflict, and blot out the shame
With the deeds of repentance, and resolute aim
To seek, 'mid the struggle with tempters and sin,
The high meed of virtue triumphant to win.