The past is passing, and the present seems
To wish to go.
Ye pass between them on your mystic way
Thro' scene and scene,
The Old Year marches through your ranks, away
To what has been,
The while the pageant moves, it scarcely seems
Apart of earth;
The Old Year dies -- and heaven crowns with gleams
The New Year's birth.
And you -- you crown yourselves with heaven's grace
To enter here;
A prayer -- ascending from an orphan face,
Or just one tear
May meet you in the years that are to be
A blessing rare.
Ye pass beneath the arch of charity,
Who passeth there
Is blest in heaven, and is blest on earth,
And God will care,
Beyond the Old Year's death and New Year's birth,
For each of you, ye Mystics! everywhere.




Rest