THE New Year came surrounded with Hope and Joy and Song,

And he smiled like dawning sunrise as he stood amid the throng.

The hopeful months they followed expectantly and slow;

But the Old Year went companionless, as all the Old Years go.

All sad and stern the Old Year went, along the unknown way;

His heart was full of bitterness, he had no word to say.

Then wonder seized upon his heart, for he was not alone;

A mighty shadow step by step was gliding by his own!

He turned to face a vast dark shape with eyes like clouded day,

And, “Who art thou, O wondrous one?” the Old Year, awed, did say.

The Old Year bared his forehead, and bent his feeble knee.

“I am unworthy of such grace, such august company.”

The other raised him gently. “Kneel not to me,” he said;

“The less, the larger, are as one when numbered with the dead.

“A hundred of thy fellows have gone to swell my tale;

A hundred centuries such as I, poured in the mighty scale

In which God swings eternity, shall count for nothing more

Than the dust borne by the wind away, the fleet foam on the shore.

“Centuries or years or cycles, we fleet and disappear;

But the Lord who is the source of time, and builds each growing year,

The Old Year shivered as he heard these words of lofty cheer;

Then light came to his faded eyes, and courage chased his fear.

He felt a strong hand clasp his own, and, held and guided so,

He went forth with the Century to where the dead Years go.