Give Yourself A Show (New Years Eve)

To my fellow sinners all, who, in hope and doubt,
Through the Commonwealth to-night watch the Old Year out,
New Years Resolutions are jerry-built I know,
But I want to say to you, Give yourselves a show.

You who drink for drinkings sake, love for lust alone,
Thinking heaven is a myth and the world your own,
Dancing gaily down to hell in the devils dance,
This I have to say to you: Give your souls a chance.

You who drink because of shame that you think will last,
Or because of wrong done you, trouble in the past,
Nothing left to live for now, you will say, I know;
But you have your own self yet, give that self a show!

You who want all things on earth, money, love, and fame
Having the advantage of worldly place or name,
You who have more than you want, even than you know,
In the glorious New Year give someone else a show.

You, the mischief-makers all, who in secret glee
Love to tell the villainies of a scamp like me;
There are things hell never tell, things youll never know,
Look into your own lives first, give the man a show.

You, the politician, who, for jealousy or gold,
Or for mean ambition, sell, or see your country sold,
Pandering to the hollow crowd, toadying to the low,
For shames sake banish selfishness, give your land a show.

Henry Lawson

Henry Lawson was an Australian writer and poet. Along with Banjo Paterson, he is among the best-known Australian poets and fiction writers of the colonial period and is often called Australia's 'greatest short story writer'. His works frequently document the lives and struggles of rural and outback Australians. Lawson's own life was marked by hardship and struggles including impaired hearing and financial difficulties, which influenced his realist depictions of Australian life. Some of his notable works include 'While the Billy Boils' and 'In the Days When the World was Wide.'

Henry Lawson

With Dickens

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

The Gentlemen Of Dickens

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

Out On The Roofs Of Hell

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

The Ballad Of The Drover

Henry Lawson, Simple Poetry

English

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To Jack

So, Ive battled it through on my own, Jack,
I have done with all dreaming and doubt.
Though stoney to-night and alone, Jack,
I am watching the Old Year out.
I have finished with brooding and fears,
Jack, And the spirit is rising in me,
For the sake of the old New Years, Jack,
And the bright New Years to be.

I have fallen in worldly disgrace, Jack,
And I know very well that you heard;
They have blackened my name in this place, Jack,
And I answered them never a word.
But why should I bluster or grieve,
Jack? So narrow and paltry they be,
I knew you would never believe, Jack,
The lies that were said against me.

That is done which shall never be undone,
And I blame not, I blame not my land,
But Im hearing the Calling of London,
And I...

Henry Lawson

A New Year's Plaint

In words like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er,
    Like coarsest clothes against the cold;
    But that large grief which these enfold
Is given in outline and no more.
                        - TENNYSON.

The bells that lift their yawning throats
    And lolling tongues with wrangling cries
Flung up in harsh, discordant notes,
    As though in anger, at the skies, -
Are filled with echoings replete,
    With purest tinkles of delight -
So I would have a something sweet
    Ring in the song I sing to-night.

As when a blotch of ugly guise
    On some poor artist's naked floor
Becomes a picture in his eyes,
    And he forgets that he is poor, -
So I look out upon the night,
    That ushers in the dawning year,
And in a vacant blur of light

James Whitcomb Riley

New Year's Eve

It's cruel cold on the water-front, silent and dark and drear;
Only the black tide weltering, only the hissing snow;
And I, alone, like a storm-tossed wreck, on this night of the glad New Year,
Shuffling along in the icy wind, ghastly and gaunt and slow.

They're playing a tune in McGuffy's saloon, and it's cheery and bright in there
(God! but I'm weak - since the bitter dawn, and never a bite of food);
I'll just go over and slip inside - I mustn't give way to despair -
Perhaps I can bum a little booze if the boys are feeling good.

They'll jeer at me, and they'll sneer at me, and they'll call me a whiskey soak;
("Have a drink? Well, thankee kindly, sir, I don't mind if I do.")
A drivelling, dirty gin-joint fiend, the butt of the bar-room joke;
Sunk and sodden and hopeless -...

Robert William Service

Prologue, Spoken At The Theatre, Dumfries, 1 Jan. 1790.

    No song nor dance I bring from yon great city
    That queens it o'er our taste, the more's the pity:
    Tho', by-the-by, abroad why will you roam?
    Good sense and taste are natives here at home:
    But not for panegyric I appear,
    I come to wish you all a good new year!
    Old Father Time deputes me here before ye,
    Not for to preach, but tell his simple story:
    The sage grave ancient cough'd, and bade me say,
    "You're one year older this important day."
    If wiser too, he hinted some suggestion,
    But 'twould be rude, you know, to ask the question;
    And with a would-be roguish leer and wink,
    He bade me on you press this one word, "think!"

        Ye sprightly youths, quite flushed with hope and spirit,
    Who think to storm...

Robert Burns

A New Year Letter

To Two Friends married in the New Year

(TO. MR. AND MRS. WELCH)

Another year to its last day,
Like a lost sovereign, runaway,
Tips down the gloomy grid of time:
In vain to holloa, 'Stop it! hey!' -
A cab-horse that has taken fright,
Be you a policeman, stop you may;
But not a sovereign mad with glee
That scampers to the grid, perdie,
And not a year that's taken flight;
To both 'tis just a grim good night.

But no! the imagery, say you,
Is wondrous witty - but not true;
For the old year that last night went
Has not been so much lost as spent:
You gave it in exchange to Death
For just twelve months of happy breath.

It was a ticket to admit
Two happy people close to sit -
A 'Season' ticket, one might say,
At ...

Richard Le Gallienne

The Drunkard's Vision

A public parlour in the slums,
The haunt of vice and villainy,
Where things are said unfit to hear,
And things are done unfit to see;
Mid ribald jest and reckless song,
That mock at all thats pure and right,
The drunkard drinks the whole day long,
And raves through half the dreadful night.

And in the morning now he sits,
With staring eyes and trembling limb;
The harbour in the sunlight laughs,
But morning is as night to him.
And, staring blankly at the wall,
He sees the tragedy complete,
He sees the man he used to be
Go striding proudly up the street.

He turns the corner with a swing,
And, at the vine-framed cottage gate,
The father sees, with laughing eyes,
His little son and daughter wait:
They race to meet him as he comes,<...

Henry Lawson