Poems (Curwen)/Midnight, 1895
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Midnight, 1895.
Ring, O bells! softly, slowly,
For this midnight hour is holy
With a host of memories,
And the thoughts which upward rise,
Like the solemn voice of prayer,
Which cleaves its passage through the air
Chill with the mist: a cold and drear
Winding sheet for the old year.
For this midnight hour is holy
With a host of memories,
And the thoughts which upward rise,
Like the solemn voice of prayer,
Which cleaves its passage through the air
Chill with the mist: a cold and drear
Winding sheet for the old year.
Ring, O bells! sadly, slowly,
For this midnight hour is wholly
One of solemn retrospection,
One of earnest self-inspection.
Ere we enter on the new,
The old year we must review;
What the pleasure it has brought?
What the lessons it has taught?
For this midnight hour is wholly
One of solemn retrospection,
One of earnest self-inspection.
Ere we enter on the new,
The old year we must review;
What the pleasure it has brought?
What the lessons it has taught?
Standing silent by its bier,
Thus we do review the year:
Tears of sorrow for the dead,
Wishes for the newly-wed;
Songs we sang in idle mirth,
Gifts we gave of little worth,
Deeds we might, but have not done,
Seeds of kindness never sown;
Cheering words we left unsaid—
Words that might have comforted;
Castles that we built too high,
Hopes that blossomed but to die,
All are grouped around the bier
Of the old departed year.
Thus we do review the year:
Tears of sorrow for the dead,
Wishes for the newly-wed;
Songs we sang in idle mirth,
Gifts we gave of little worth,
Deeds we might, but have not done,
Seeds of kindness never sown;
Cheering words we left unsaid—
Words that might have comforted;
Castles that we built too high,
Hopes that blossomed but to die,
All are grouped around the bier
Of the old departed year.