Blest

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

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

But thou didst know her whom to-dayMy 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 eyesShall 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 beThis side of vast Eternity!