THE MEET AT MIDNIGHT.
31st December 1879.
They are mustering to-night on the ocean
Their legions in mighty force,
Their banners in wild commotion,
Their trumpets braying hoarse.
The billows are scourged into madness
By the stroke of their giant wings,
And the hollow vault that holds the stars
Booms, and bellows, and rings!
Would you know why all this gathering
Of winds at the midnight hour?
—I will tell you anon, but you must know
First of their mighty power.
They have come from the south, and the eastward,
And the fierce north blasts are there;
And shoulder to shoulder with rumpled wings,
They press till they fill the air!
For miles and for miles of the ocean,
Shoulder to shoulder they lie,
And the long strong sweep of their flanking wings
Strikes from sea to sky.
You might trace the track they have come by
By lighthouses down thrown,
And towns with steeples and churches
And the sea with wrecks o'erstrewn.
And their squadroned strength is greater
Than ever yet shook the earth,
When she shakes with the mighty anguish
Of an earthquake at the birth.
But now they are all in motion,
And with one continuous shout
They sweep in a hurricane up Strathbraan,
And blow the Old Year out!
For the burden of sin on the Old Year's back
As he sways and staggers along,
Is as big as the huge earth-globe itself,
And needs a wind so strong.
Blow, winds from the German Ocean,
This burden from the earth!—
Sweet rest be yours and the weary world's
In the hush of the Young Year's birth!
