LETTING IN THE NEW YEAR.
By Susan Archer Weiss
WHAT wonder that, as here I sit alone, Counting the steps of the departing year, Waiting the slow and solemn chime to hear That tolls the requiem of the Old Year gone, A solemn awe should o'er my spirit spread, A strange, still sense of mystery and dread! What wonder—when I know that at my door, Unseen, unknown, the waiting New Year stands, Grasping a sealed scroll within his hands— With strange, dim characters inscribed o'er— Wherein lies hid in awful mystery All that this coming year shall bring to me! Perchance that sealed scroll may hold withal Some sad death warrant for the friends I prize; Or my own name amongst them haply lies; Or sorrows worse than death yet to befall; Or there be writ in characters of gold Some joy to crown my life with bliss untold. I watch the old moon, in its slow decline; So pass, Old Year, beyond life's stormy sea. Whate'er the waiting New Year bring to me I know 'tis ordered by a hand divine; So, fearless, 'mid the wild bells' mingled din, I ope the door, and let the New Year in. —Independent.