Page:Poems Eddy.djvu/42

TO THE OLD YEAR—1865

ASS on, returnless year!
The track behind thee is with glory crowned;
The turf where thou hast trod is holy ground.
  Pass proudly to thy bier!

  Chill was thy midnight day,
While Justice grasped the sword to hold her throne,
And on her altar our loved Lincoln's own
  Great willing heart did lay.

  Thy purpose hath been won!
Thou point 'st thy phantom finger, grim and cold,
To the dark record of our guilt unrolled,
  And smiling, say'st, "'Tis done!"

  This record I will bear
To the dim chambers of eternity—
The chain and charter I have lived to see
  Purged by the cannon's prayer;