THE GLAD NEW YEAR
It’s coming, boys, It’s almost here. It’s coming, girls, The grand New Year.
A year to be glad in, Not to be sad in; A year to live in, To gain and give in.
A year for trying, And not for sighing; A year for striving And healthy thriving.
It’s coming, boys, It’s almost here. It’s coming, girls, The grand New Year.
Mary Mapes Dodge.
Let others looke for Pearle and Gold, Tissues, or Tabbies manifold; One only lock of that sweet Hay Whereon the blessed Babie lay, Or one poore Swadling-clout, shall be
The richest New-Yeere’s Gift to me. Robert Herrick.
THE QUEEN OF THE YEAR
When suns are low and nights are long And winds bring wild alarms, Through the darkness comes the Queen of the Year In all her peerless charms,—December, fair and holly-crowned, With the Christ-child in her arms.
The maiden months are a stately train, Veiled in the spotless snow, Or decked with the bloom of Paradise What time the roses blow, Or wreathed with the vine and the yellow wheat When the noons of harvest glow.
But, oh, the joy of the rolling year, The queen with peerless charms, Is she who comes through the waning light To keep the world from harms,—December, fair and holly-crowned, With the Christ-child in her arms.
Edna Dean Proctor.
THE NEW YEAR
Snow-wrapped and holly-decked it comes, To richest and to poorest homes. Twelve jeweled months all set with days Of priceless opportunities. A silver moon, a golden sun, With diamond stars when day is done; Over all a sapphire sky Where pearly clouds go floating by.
(Selected.)
THE CHILD AND THE YEAR
Said the child to the youthful year: “What hast thou in store for me, O giver of beautiful gifts! what cheer, What joy dost thou bring with thee?”
“My seasons four shall bring their treasures: the winter’s snows, The autumn’s store, and the flowers of spring, And the summer’s perfect rose.
“All these and more shall be thine, Dear child—but the last and best Thyself must earn by a strife divine, If thou wouldst be truly blest. “Celia Thaxter.
RING OUT, WILD BELLS
Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, The flying cloud, the frosty light: The year is dying in the night; Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.
Ring out the old, ring in the new, Ring, happy bells, across the snow: The year is going, let him go; Ring out the false, ring in the true.
Alfred Tennyson