New Year Thoughts.
As to the dying year I bade farewell,
Within my hands she left a mantle dark,
Whereon mine eyes did mark
Loved names I scarce for blinding tears could read;
But from its folds fresh blushing flow’rets fell
Of that fair spring-tide I had mourned as dead.
And now her youngest sister draweth nigh,
’Neath modest starlight and with noiseless feet,
Whom thousands flock to greet—
Thousands of every age, who fain would know,
As in her face each peereth wistfully,
What fate she bringeth—happiness or woe?
She answereth not, but pointeth silently
To where far off the hidden future lies,
All dark to mortal eyes,
Save where, from out the gloom, faint stars appear.
She will not linger—haste and thou shalt see
From chaos order as thou drawest near.
Who in this new God’s acre?
Who in this new God’s acre first shall rest?
Or gallant youth, or baby from the breast?
Or age, beneath it’s crown of snow-white hair?
Or queen of smiles and charms, some maiden fair?
Time only can the answer give—and God,
Who first shall lie beneath the upturned sod.
It matters not; whom e’er death first may reap
Here in a Father’s arms shall quiet sleep,
The tender flowers shall grow above his head
And drink the dews that fall upon his bed.
The silent grave is safe from foolish sneer
And persecutor’s rage is baffled here.
Who first shall rest here? Ah! the days soon come,
When all the love of many a village home
Shall centre round this spot, where kith and kin
Are laid to rest, this virgin soil within.
From far and near men by the graves shall stand
Of friends who rest within the Better Land.
Who first shall rest here? God o’er all doth reign,
The life He gave us we must give again.
Our chiefest duty here to work and strive
To His great glory while we are alive,
And He some resting place will then provide,
Or far from town or by the Cletwr’s tide.