What and How Shall I Write in This New Year? By C. P. BOLLMAN
The new year comes from the pregnant East,
Where the day line cleaves the seas;
And while to the North it brings wild storms,
The South hears the hum of bees.
But whether in biting Northern cold,
Or in melting Southern air,
The new year brings to us every one
A blank card, unstained and fair.
And on that card we write, hour by hour,
All we do or think or say,
And anon we'll meet that record true
In the final judgment-day.
What shall I write, then, during this year
That the East has sent to me?
I can only write my very self,
For the eye of my God to see.
For I write as I live day by day,
Every act and word and thought;
So I must be what I'd have the card
When to Judgment I am brought.
Then live Thou in me, my gracious Lord;
Write Thy thoughts and words and will
Upon the card that Thou givest me,
While I trust Thee, and am still.
