Читать книгу Threads of Grey and Gold - Reed Myrtle - Страница 4

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Tread softly, ye throngs with hurrying feet,

Look down, O ye stars, in your flight,

And bid ye farewell to a time that was sweet,

For the year lies a-dying to-night.

In a shroud of pure snow lie the quickly-fled hours—

The children of Time and of Light;

Stoop down, ye fair moon, and scatter sweet flowers,

For the year lies a-dying to-night.

Hush, O ye rivers that sweep to the sea,

From hill and from blue mountain height;

The flood of your song should be sorrow, not glee,

For the year lies a-dying to-night.

Good night, and good-bye, dear, mellow, old year,

The new is beginning to dawn.

But we’ll turn and drop on thy white grave a tear,

For the sake of the friend that is gone.

All hail to the New! He is coming with gladness,

From the East, where in light he reposes;

He is bringing a year free from pain and from sadness,

He is bringing a June with her roses.

A burst of sweet music, the listeners hear,

The stars and the angels give warning—

He is coming in beauty, this joyful New Year,

O’er the flower-strewn stairs of the morning.

He is bringing a day with glad pulses beating,

For the sorrow and passion are gone,

And Love and Life have a rapturous meeting

In the rush and the gladness of dawn.

The Old has gone out with a crown that is hoary,

The New in his brightness draws near;

Then let us look up in the light and the glory,

And welcome this royal New Year.