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BIRTH OF THE YEAR.
While Faith trimmed the lamp of her midnight devotion,
A chill, wintry shroud on the Old Year was cast;
And when the strict hand of the clock made the motion,
He sunk, and for aye, in the tomb of the past!
The truths he had taught us,—
The things he had brought us,—
The thorns, and the roses,—while thought pondered o'er,
A “click!” was the token;
His hour-glass was broken
In shivers, and gathered to all gone before.
A chill, wintry shroud on the Old Year was cast;
And when the strict hand of the clock made the motion,
He sunk, and for aye, in the tomb of the past!
The truths he had taught us,—
The things he had brought us,—
The thorns, and the roses,—while thought pondered o'er,
A “click!” was the token;
His hour-glass was broken
In shivers, and gathered to all gone before.
But up from its sands, like a young Phœnix springing,
Alone of its race,—with bright pinions unfurled,—
His offspring arose at his passing-bell's ringing,—
The New Year, with birth-smile, hung o'er the wide world!
For this, with kind greeting,
Whilst old friends are meeting,
And new ones are bidding each other All hail!
Let each count the dearest,—
The wisest,—the nearest,—
That Friend never-changing, whose “years shall not fail.”
Alone of its race,—with bright pinions unfurled,—
His offspring arose at his passing-bell's ringing,—
The New Year, with birth-smile, hung o'er the wide world!
For this, with kind greeting,
Whilst old friends are meeting,
And new ones are bidding each other All hail!
Let each count the dearest,—
The wisest,—the nearest,—
That Friend never-changing, whose “years shall not fail.”
'T is good, to our neighbour to be the well-wisher;
And meet that the act, too, we do not forget:
Not wishing or hope took the prize of the fisher,
Till he with firm hand put forth also the net.
As all men are brothers,
So each is the other's,
With every one work for some other to do,—
Of justice, love, kindness,
Or light lent to blindness,—
To make his fair words, and own happiness, true.
And meet that the act, too, we do not forget:
Not wishing or hope took the prize of the fisher,
Till he with firm hand put forth also the net.
As all men are brothers,
So each is the other's,
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Of justice, love, kindness,
Or light lent to blindness,—
To make his fair words, and own happiness, true.
For He, who hath tempered the sun to the season,
The seed-time and harvest unfailing to bring,
The ingrate or heartless holds charged with high-treason
From us, as his subjects, to Him, as our King.
His hand, while controlling
The deep, as 't is rolling
Our ships, fraught with riches from far, to the shore,
With bounty has crowned us,
Till this day has found us,
A nation long blest in her basket and store.
The seed-time and harvest unfailing to bring,
The ingrate or heartless holds charged with high-treason
From us, as his subjects, to Him, as our King.
His hand, while controlling
The deep, as 't is rolling
Our ships, fraught with riches from far, to the shore,
With bounty has crowned us,
Till this day has found us,
A nation long blest in her basket and store.
But, since he first made us a Nation, and gave us
Our country and birthright, untroubled and free,
With none to molest, to invade, or enslave us,
What sin in our bosom still hugged doth he see?
Unrighteous possession,—
Unbridled oppression,—
Our brethren made merchandise,—bought,—burdened,—sold!—
The weaker in fetters;—
Our rulers abetters
In changing our glory to idols of gold!
Our country and birthright, untroubled and free,
With none to molest, to invade, or enslave us,
What sin in our bosom still hugged doth he see?
Unrighteous possession,—
Unbridled oppression,—
Our brethren made merchandise,—bought,—burdened,—sold!—
The weaker in fetters;—
Our rulers abetters
In changing our glory to idols of gold!
If thus we can guiltily hoodwink each other,
While God in our hand sees the code of his laws,
If, startled by conscience, her crying we smother,
What advocate have we on high in our cause?
Not Him, the all-Holy,—
The meek, and the lowly,—
Friend of the poor, by the Pharisee spurned!
Our portion, our treasure,
He saith, is the measure
We 've meted to others, on us but returned!
While God in our hand sees the code of his laws,
If, startled by conscience, her crying we smother,
What advocate have we on high in our cause?
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The meek, and the lowly,—
Friend of the poor, by the Pharisee spurned!
Our portion, our treasure,
He saith, is the measure
We 've meted to others, on us but returned!
But hark! hear the auctioneer's hammer,—the wailing,—
The chains of those kindred, more never to meet!
O, heard ye that hammer? Our Saviour they 're nailing
Afresh to the cross, through the hands and the feet!
The warm vessels draining,
With crimson they 're staining—
From nature's soft bosom—our skirts, and our soil.
Whilst life yet is lasting,
Some, yonder, are casting
Their lots for his raiment; and parting the spoil.
The chains of those kindred, more never to meet!
O, heard ye that hammer? Our Saviour they 're nailing
Afresh to the cross, through the hands and the feet!
The warm vessels draining,
With crimson they 're staining—
From nature's soft bosom—our skirts, and our soil.
Whilst life yet is lasting,
Some, yonder, are casting
Their lots for his raiment; and parting the spoil.
And some go by “wagging their heads,” nothing heeding
A scene so long shown,—so familiar to view;
While not from those gall-wetted lips comes the pleading,—
“Forgive them!” Alas! for they know “what they do.”
Turn,—turn,—thou, my nation,
And seek thy salvation,
Repentant and docile, before the Most High;
Nor dare to spread broader
Thy Calvary's border;
But break from this body of death, lest thou die!
A scene so long shown,—so familiar to view;
While not from those gall-wetted lips comes the pleading,—
“Forgive them!” Alas! for they know “what they do.”
Turn,—turn,—thou, my nation,
And seek thy salvation,
Repentant and docile, before the Most High;
Nor dare to spread broader
Thy Calvary's border;
But break from this body of death, lest thou die!
This year
a great problem presents for thy solving;
And great is thy need of a wisdom divine:
Thy balance may turn, while its months are revolving,
And honor, or shame, ever after be thine.
Yet ask of the Being
Almighty, all-seeing,
Who raised thee from bondage to Freedom's fair height,
His arm to protect thee,—
His light to direct thee,—
The things of thy peace, ere they 're hid from thy sight!
And great is thy need of a wisdom divine:
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And honor, or shame, ever after be thine.
Yet ask of the Being
Almighty, all-seeing,
Who raised thee from bondage to Freedom's fair height,
His arm to protect thee,—
His light to direct thee,—
The things of thy peace, ere they 're hid from thy sight!
And ye, O my friends, whom this day must find weeping,
For hopes that are blighted,—joys darkened to woe;
In heart-desolation, for loved ones, now sleeping
Where, round their low pillows, the spring-grass will grow;
If thence ye can borrow
One balm-drop for sorrow,
Accept the warm tribute of sympathy's tear!
And feel we 're but stricken
By One who would quicken
Our step to the rest man shall never find here!
For hopes that are blighted,—joys darkened to woe;
In heart-desolation, for loved ones, now sleeping
Where, round their low pillows, the spring-grass will grow;
If thence ye can borrow
One balm-drop for sorrow,
Accept the warm tribute of sympathy's tear!
And feel we 're but stricken
By One who would quicken
Our step to the rest man shall never find here!
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