“Old Year, Adieu”

A happy measure smites the ear.
It pealeth full, it pealeth clear;
And at the “witching hour” of night,
Awakes a rapture of delight.
Across the land, across the sea,
The merry strain is borne along;
While even seraphs bend the knee
Before the majesty of song.

Old Year--alas, we cannot stay
Thy eager footsteps for a day;
Thy work is done, and thou shalt go,
A rival is at hand we know.
Across the land, across the sea,
The merry strain is borne along;
Ah! surely it is bliss to flee
Upon the pinions of a song.

Hark!--clear and strong and full and free,
I hear the bells saluting thee;
They seem to say “Old Year, adieu”--
And “halleluiah” to the New.
Across the land, across the sea,
The merry peal is borne along,
And all the world must happy be
To hear the oft-repeated song.