The Old and the New
The Old Year goes down-hill so slow
And silent that he seems to know
The mighty march of time, foretelling
His passing: into his eyelids welling
Come tears of bitter pain and woe.
The lusty blast can scarce forego
His cape about his ears to blow,
As feebly to his final dwelling
The Old Year goes.
Within the belfry, row on row,
The bells are swinging to and fro;
Now joyfully the chimes are swelling—
Now solemn and few the notes are knelling—
For here the New Year comes:—and lo!
The Old Year goes!
Brander Matthews.