'I come,' the New Year saith, 'unbid by man,
And all the world must look upon my face;
And some thro' sorrow's tears my visage scan,
Striving to see thereon one touch of grace.

'I come, and marvel at the crouching fear
Which souls display when I in silence take
The Old Year gently from his darkened bier,
And bid the world to joy and rapture wake.

'O weary hearts! think ye I come alone,
Unaided, and a wanderer from some clime?
Think ye that in my soul no love is sown,
That I, unguided, winged the aisles of Time?

'Nay, for a Hand Supreme to me was given,
And I was led adown the shadowy land;
I am the gift of naught save hope and heaven,
Bidden by God to speak His high command.'