POEMS.
61
THE VOICE OF THE COMING YEAR.
I lift the veil from my hidden form,
As I follow the year gone by;
Like the dying wail of a passing storm
It hath breathed its farewell sigh;
And now pile high the festive cheer,
And haste ye to welcome the Coming Year!
As I follow the year gone by;
Like the dying wail of a passing storm
It hath breathed its farewell sigh;
And now pile high the festive cheer,
And haste ye to welcome the Coming Year!
Hail me with gladness, though many a brow
Will be bowed to the earth ere I vanish again,
And the eyes that shall smile on my presence now,
May weep for the ill that I bear in my train:
Yet hope! for ye know not what good may be near,
To lighten each heart in the Coming Year!
Will be bowed to the earth ere I vanish again,
And the eyes that shall smile on my presence now,
May weep for the ill that I bear in my train:
Yet hope! for ye know not what good may be near,
To lighten each heart in the Coming Year!
Welcome me, ye who are pining to sleep
Where the blasts ye have felt in this life shall be o'er,
Where the lov'd ones long lost, for whom sadly ye weep,
May meet ye in bliss that shall darken no more.
Welcome me now—stay each sorrowing tear—
Ye may find your calm rest in the Coming Year!
Where the blasts ye have felt in this life shall be o'er,
Where the lov'd ones long lost, for whom sadly ye weep,
May meet ye in bliss that shall darken no more.
Welcome me now—stay each sorrowing tear—
Ye may find your calm rest in the Coming Year!
