Poems (Acton)/The Voice of the coming Year

THE VOICE OF THE COMING YEAR. ——

I lift the veil from my hidden form,
 As I follow the year gone by;
Like the dying wail of a passing storm
 It hath breathed its farewell sigh;
And now pile high the festive cheer,
And haste ye to welcome the Coming Year!

Hail me with gladness, though many a brow
 Will be bowed to the earth ere I vanish again,
And the eyes that shall smile on my presence now,
 May weep for the ill that I bear in my train:
Yet hope! for ye know not what good may be near,
To lighten each heart in the Coming Year!

Welcome me, ye who are pining to sleep
 Where the blasts ye have felt in this life shall be o'er,
Where the lov'd ones long lost, for whom sadly ye weep,
 May meet ye in bliss that shall darken no more.
Welcome me now—stay each sorrowing tear—
Ye may find your calm rest in the Coming Year!

Hail me, fond parents! who yearn to behold
 Your bright opening buds into flowers expand;
Ere the last parting knell of my course hath been told,
 What beauties may rise 'neath my fostering hand;
And gazing with joy on the forms ye hold dear,
Ye may bless the proud work of the Coming Year!

Perchance to the blighted in heart I may bring
 A smile that shall lighten each care-wasted face—
Some bright, gleaming flashes of joy on my wing,
 To blot out the vestige of misery's trace;
Mistrust me not yet, ye may have naught to fear
In threading the maze of the Coming Year.

Then grudge not my welcome—bring holly so green,
 To twine round my brow, when my presence ye see;
Let the memory sad of the ill that has been,
 Be lost in the hope of the good that may be.
Prepare the gay dance and the glad festal cheer,
And haste ye to welcome the Coming Year.
H. A.