The Anniversaries Poems in Commemoration of Great Men and Great Events. By Thomas H. Gill |
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New-Year's Day.
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 | The Anniversaries |  |
1
New-Year's Day.
“To twit us with the present age which is to us an age of ages,
wherein God is manifestly come down among us to do some remarkable
good to our Church and State, is as if a man should tax the renovating
and reingendering Spirit of God with innovation, and that new creature
for an upstart novelty.”—
Milton, Animadversions, sect. 4.
Why liftest thou, oft weeping pilgrim, up
Glad smiling eyes to greet the New-born Year?
Why, mortal trembler, doth thy glowing hope
Salute some hastening joy, some glory near?
Glad smiling eyes to greet the New-born Year?
Why, mortal trembler, doth thy glowing hope
Salute some hastening joy, some glory near?
Thou art not sure that Nature will be sweet;
Her beauty may be dim, her music dull:
Ah! frowning Sky and drooping Earth may cheat
These eyes that so desire the Beautiful.
Her beauty may be dim, her music dull:
Ah! frowning Sky and drooping Earth may cheat
These eyes that so desire the Beautiful.
2
Rude blasts may keep the vernal airs away;
The grace of April showers in scant drops fall;
A faint flush die on the sweet face of May,
And feebly sound her voice so musical.
The grace of April showers in scant drops fall;
A faint flush die on the sweet face of May,
And feebly sound her voice so musical.
Summer may pine and languish; joyous June
Forget her roses and her radiance leave,
Nor pour the burning glory of her noon,
Nor shed the soft divineness of her eve.
Forget her roses and her radiance leave,
Nor pour the burning glory of her noon,
Nor shed the soft divineness of her eve.
But, though the outer year should shine and smile,
On thine own year no sweetness may be shed;
Thy heart may vainly wait its golden while,
Or mourn its May so swiftly vanishëd.
On thine own year no sweetness may be shed;
Thy heart may vainly wait its golden while,
Or mourn its May so swiftly vanishëd.
Its vernal airs may scarce have leave to blow;
Its summer-bowers in sudden ruin lie;
Its shady depths no happy music know;
Its roses bloom too late, too early die.
Its summer-bowers in sudden ruin lie;
Its shady depths no happy music know;
Its roses bloom too late, too early die.
3
O year where Nature may be sad and stern!
O shining hours that may not shine for me!
Why look ye still so sweet? O! why doth burn
In this glad heart such bright expectancy?
O shining hours that may not shine for me!
Why look ye still so sweet? O! why doth burn
In this glad heart such bright expectancy?
O New-born Year! may not thy humble days
Shine 'neath the great Renewer's “beamy walk?”
May not the Lord, to thy surprise and praise,
More nearly with His people deign to talk?
Shine 'neath the great Renewer's “beamy walk?”
May not the Lord, to thy surprise and praise,
More nearly with His people deign to talk?
May not His hand have given to thy trust
Some thing of grace divine, of glorious dread?
May not thine hours roll awful and august,
With mighty births divinely burdenëd?
Some thing of grace divine, of glorious dread?
May not thine hours roll awful and august,
With mighty births divinely burdenëd?
May not some awful Angel have in charge
Earth's blaze to darken and Earth's strength to break?
May not each prisoned soul be set at large
By some sweet visit gracious Angels make?
Earth's blaze to darken and Earth's strength to break?
4
By some sweet visit gracious Angels make?
May not thine hours some trembling prelude snatch
Of the redeemëd World's full burst of praise,—
Yes, some faint, faint foretelling radiance catch
Of the full glory of the Latter Days?
Of the redeemëd World's full burst of praise,—
Yes, some faint, faint foretelling radiance catch
Of the full glory of the Latter Days?
May eyes of mine the brightening vision hail—
On ears of mine the sounds celestial break?
O! may the Lord by my weak arm prevail,
Me more than gazer on the glory make?
On ears of mine the sounds celestial break?
O! may the Lord by my weak arm prevail,
Me more than gazer on the glory make?
I humbly welcome, Lord, the New-born Year,
Wherein my glad soul looketh for thy grace;
Most bright that summer, most that season dear,
When most divinely Thou unveil'st Thy face!
Wherein my glad soul looketh for thy grace;
Most bright that summer, most that season dear,
When most divinely Thou unveil'st Thy face!
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