Classic Poem

O New Year, New Year, tell me true,
What wilt thou bring to me, —
Bring to me out of the heavens blue,
Where thy bright home must be?

Thou comest, godlike, in a cloud:
I cannot see thy form;
Is't sunshine that the mists enshroud,
Or lurketh there a storm?

I stretch my hands out unto thee;
Oh, speak to me and say!
I'd know what things shall come to me
Along this untrod way.

The old year gave me buds to hold;
And while I tended them,
And watched to see the flowers unfold,
They faded on the stem.

She whispered promises so fair
They drove away all fears;
But clouds drank up the sunny air,
And dripped in rainy tears.

She took me up on vision heights,
And showed a prospect sweet;
But I have stumbled through the nights
With weary, bleeding feet.

So tell me, New Year, what's to be
Upon each new to-morrow.
Shall my bright hopes abide with me,
Or change to shapes of sorrow?

A low-voiced wind came whispering
From out the mystery:
" I am the New Year, and I bring
That which is given to me.

" Thou livest not alone for joy,
Or but to gather flowers.
Lament not, then, what storms destroy,
Nor chide the dark-winged hours.

" Through cloud and sun and dripping rain
The Year her garment weaves,
And clothes the earth with golden grain
And decks with autumn leaves.

" And all the mingled days conspire
To make her work complete.
Even discords tremble on her lyre
To make the song more sweet.

" Not what thou hast, but what thou art,
And what thou yet shalt be:
Each year is but a verse, a part
Of life's full poesy.

" The minor mingles with the gay;
And, when the song is done,
Thou'lt see how each its part did play
To make the poem one.

" Then ask not what's ahead of thee,
Each day thy part fulfil;
Be sure that thy life's mystery
Obeys a higher will.

" 'Tis love that in the darkness leads;
My face thou may'st not see;
It is enough for all thy needs
That thou do follow me. "