Only a year ago —
And do you remember how
We sat as we're sitting now,
And the fire was low?
And all the room was dark
Behind us, table and chair,
Save when a restless spark
Leapt from the embers there;
And the tick of the clock on the stair,
Or a creak in the oaken floor,
Was all we heard—no more.
For the bells in the minster-tower
Had ended their muffled chime;
And we watched through the solemn time
Before the strike of the hour.
How long it seemed, as with breath
Bated, and straining ear,
We sat as still as death —
So still we seemed to hear
The wings of the flying year
Beat, as it sped apace
Above, through the night and space!
How fast the years go by!
We are sitting here again
As we sat together then
To see the old year die.
Hark! how the wind outside
In the garden among the trees
Sighs with the sound of a rising tide
In far-off seas;
And blown on the fitful breeze
The roll of muffled bells
Swells and sinks and swells.
There — they have stopped at last:
And all the air is dumb,
And wizard memories come
To conjure up the past.
The ghost of days gone by
In well-known shape begins
To rise before my eye.
Old sorrows, joys, and sins,
Dead triumphs and chagrins,
Long-buried hope and pain —
I see them all again.
These moments leave one space
To slip aside from the crowd,
Where the race runs hot and loud,
And meet self face to face.
They give us time to whet
Our wills, and rear a heap
Of aims we soon upset,
And vows we cannot keep,
And know we cannot keep.
How eagerly we weave
This hollow make-believe!
Yet, if it were not thus,
We should almost die of despair;
So let the illusion fair
Stay and encourage us.
Whenever we will what is good
We are better because we willed;
And there's worth in an honest would,
Although it be not fulfilled.
For 'tis not with success that we build
Our life, but with noble endeavor.
Full success is a prize won never.
But, listen! the bells ring out
To usher in the year.
Farewell to every fear!
Farewell to every doubt!
It seems so easy now
(Bells touch one's blood with flame)
To compass every vow,
And realize each aim;
But will it be the same
By to-morrow morning's light?
Oh, ask not that — good-night.