  THE Old Year knew him, but the New knows not, And all our joy and welcome for the New Is clouded by the thought, which, like a blot Stains and obscures the gladness through and through. Old Year, which barely touched him as he passed, This grace abides with thee now thou art dead, Of Time’s brief vanished heirs thou wert the last To lay a blessing on his honored head. We saw thee greet him with mysterious smile, We did not mark how sad the smile and strange, But deemed all well, then in a little while The skies grew dark with swift tempestuous change. Led by thy hand he vanished from our eyes, And thou fulfilled thy date day after day, And still to grief and question and surmise Made never answer, keeping on thy way. But still we love thee, for thou wert the last To see the face which we no longer see, And all the grace and glory of his past Completes and ends and culminates in thee. The New Year’s hands with good gifts may be full, The New Year’s heart with love and peace may brim, He cannot be to us as beautiful As the old years which caught their best from him. |
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