Blest

Sinking to thine eternal rest,
O dying Year! I call thee blest;
Blest as no coming year may be
This side of vast Eternity!

Thy cheek is pale, thy brow is worn;
Thine arms are weary, that have borne
The heaviest burdens ever laid
On any, since the world was made.

But thou didst know her whom to-day
My fond heart mourns, and must alway;
She loved thee, claimed thee, called thee dear,
Hailing with joy the glad New Year!

Thou didst behold her, fair and good,
The perfect flower of womanhood;
Simple and pure in thought and deed,
Yet strong in every hour of need.

Ah! other years shall come and go,
Bidding the sweet June roses blow;
But never on their yearning eyes
Shall her fair presence once arise!

The Spring shall miss her, and the long,
Bright Summer days hear not her song;
And hoary Winter, draped in snow,
Finding her not, shall haste to go!

Therefore, Old Year, I call thee blest,
Thus sinking to eternal rest;
Blest as no other Year may be
This side of vast Eternity!