APPENDIX IV.
VERSES BY J. R. HOPE-SCOTT.
FEAST OF THE CIRCUMCISION, 1859 (THE BIRTHDAY OF C. H. S.).
New Year's Day returns again,
Does it bring us joy or pain?
Does it teach us to rely
On the world, or pass it by?
Will it be like seasons gone,
Or undo what they have done?
Shall we trust the future more
Than the time we've spent before?
Is it hope, or is it fear
That attends our new-born year?
Childhood, busy with its toys,
Answers, it expects new joys;
Youth, untaught by pleasures past,
Thinks to find some that will last;
Manhood counts its honours o'er,
And resolves to gather more;
While old age sits idly by,
Only hoping not to die.
Thus the world—now, Christian, say
What for me means New Year's Day.
New Year's Day is but a name,
While our hearts remain the same;
All our years are old and few,
Christ alone can make them new.
Around Him our seasons move,
Each made fruitful by His love.
Summer's heat and winter's snow
May unheeded come and go;
What He suffered, what He taught,
Makes the year of Christian thought.
Then to know thy gain or loss,
From the cradle towards the Cross
Follow Him, and on the way
Thou wilt find His New Year's Day.
Advent, summoning thy heart
In His coming to take part,
Warned thee of its double kind,
Mercy first, but wrath behind;
Bade thee hope the Incarnate Word,
Bade thee fear the avenging Lord.
Christmas next, with cheerful voice,
Called upon thee to rejoice;
But, while yet the Blessed Child
Sweetly on thy homage smiled,
Lo! beside His peaceful bed
Stephen laid a martyr's head.
Next a day of joy was won
For thee by our dear Saint John;
But its sun had scarcely set
When the earth with blood was wet:
Rachel, weeping for her slain,
Would not raise her heart again;
And St. Thomas, bowing down,
Grasped in death his jewelled crown.