A Song for the New Year

One sigh to the Year that hath sped!
     One tear o’er the bier of the Past!
And the soul shall be nerved as it turns from the Dead,
     A glance o’er the Future to cast.
It is folly to cherish regret
     For joys which are shrouded in gloom—
The Future hath sunshine to gladden us yet,
     There is brightness this side of the tomb!
Let us banish our sadness and dash off the tear,
And sing for the birth of another New-Year!

Our ranks have been thinned, it is true;
     The loved and the lovely are flown—
The Grave hath claimed tribute! and deeply we rue
     The strength and the excellence gone!
The Beautiful sleep in the dust,
     The Mighty have passed from our side,
And our hearts have been dimmed by the cankering rust
     Of sorrow for those who have died!
To the love and the lost give a tear and a sigh—
While our welcoming son to the Future swells high!

The hopes which sprung up in our path,
     When the Year that is buried was new,
Are sunk to the dust, and the shadows of wrath
     Have hidden their fragments from view.
The joys which were ours, are departed,—
     Their light, though effulgent, was brief;
The Year that we greeted with accents light-hearted,
     Hath left us the victims of Grief.
Yet hurra [sic] for the Future! our hearts shall be free—
Though the Past hath deceive us, we’ll truth the TO BE!

The dust is on many a brow,
     The dimness in many an eye,
That blessed us in days which are parted—and now
     We think on our loss with a sigh.
But not for an hour such as this,
     Is the mournful remembrance of joy
Which is shrouded in dust—with the future a bliss
     Shall be found which no grief can destroy!
Be the Past, then, forgot—while the clouds of to-day
By the sunlight of Mirth shall be melted away!

For the friends whom we greeted of old,
     The lovely, the good, and the brave—
Let the death song be sung—for the hearts which are cold
     In the stillness of death and the grave!
To cherish their virtues is well;
     To think, with a mournful regret,
Of the stars of our life that so suddenly fell;
     Of the suns, ere their noonday that set!
Yet why should we mourn them?—one dirge—‘;tis the last
Which we give to the friends and the joys of the Past!

Not in gloom and despair are we left
     To mourn o’er the hopes which are flown;
Not yet of all gladness our hearts are bereft,
     There are joys which may still be our own.
The Future, perchance, hath a balm
     To heal all the wounds of the past;
Life’s tempest-tost voyager shall yet find a calm
     Where his rest may be peaceful at last.
Then courage! our sorrows we’ll cast to the dust,
And welcome the Future in hope and in trust!