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131
THE LAST HOUR OF 1846.
I
Moans the night wind so wildly? sad and chillCome distant rain drops falling? wherefore so?
Hath not the old year pass'd like light, and still
Blooms not the future in unclouded glow?—
And scatter'd on its blue waves see ye not,
Sisters, full many a love-enamell'd spot?
II
Then wherefore moans the wind, and wherefore comesSad thro' the night the weeping of the rain?
Oh, sisters, deem not that earth's many homes
Have all like yours been without cloud or stain:—
There are who weep upon their couch the light
Of fond hopes, last year glowing, dead to-night.
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III
There are who mourn for dear ones reft and rivenFrom out the inmost shrine of loving hearts;
Now shining far perchance like stars of heaven,
But yet the tie, though parted, ever parts:
There are who sorrows weep more drear than this:
Oh hush, that depth unknown, unsounded is.
IV
Then blame ye not the wind that sounds so wild,Blame not the passing hour's quick mournful tears:
But listen to its lesson like a child
And catch its troubled music—so our years
Will all ere long like winds have fleeted by
And tears alone make answer to their sigh.
December 31, 1846.
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