Careless a moment how the plot may run,

Indifferent to the part he has perused,

Then with new interest going back to find

How fared it with the story’s people, so

Here at the gate of this new year I stand.

Weary we grew long since, my Comrade soul!

So tired we are of all our eyes have found,

So strong our yearning for new sights and sounds!

Yet on this morn the world is fair again,—

Ah, very fair, and full of light and joy;

And holding forth new hope that comes of faith,

And adding to our faith that lies in God.

Now, like some traveler in a desert lost,

Straining his eyes across the wastes of sand,

Then, sudden, finding tracks but freshly made

That give new courage to the wanderer,—

So now, my Comrade soul, we turn away

From dreary wastes, we see the tracks that show

Where others have gone on and found the way

As we can find it. Come, old Comrade,—friend!

Give me your hand, we must march on again!