God's New Year's Gift

    What shall the coming year bring forth,
        O Lord, who rulest the land?
    For the navies of the sea and air
        Are but stubble in Thy hand.
    The battalions in the field go forth;
        They arm in mighty line;
    Do they kneel to know Thy holy will?
        Have they asked from Thee a sign?

    The kings invoke Thy holy name,
        In their carnage and their strife;
    But the purple gift it was Thine to give
        Recks not of pity nor life:
    For they're drunk with the wine of lustful power,
        And seared with the sins of earth;
    And their prayers and preachments now mock Thy name,
        And make of Thy laws but mirth.

    January 1, 1916.

    For Duncan Campbell Scott.

Thomas O'Hagan

Thomas O'Hagan was a Canadian poet and essayist born on March 6, 1855, in Toronto, Ontario. He was noted for his contributions to Canadian literature and his involvement in educational initiatives. His works often reflected themes of Irish heritage and identity. O'Hagan's dedication to literature and education earned him a distinguished place in Canada's cultural history. He passed away on March 1, 1939.

Thomas O'Hagan

The Christ-Child

Thomas O'Hagan, Simple Poetry

Louvain

Thomas O'Hagan, Simple Poetry

Bobs" Of Kandahar

Thomas O'Hagan, Simple Poetry

English

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New Year, 1868.

Cradled in ice, and swathed in snows,
    And shining like a Christmas rose,
Wreathed round with white chrysanthemums;
    Heaven in his innocent, brave blue eyes,
    Straight from the primal paradise,
Behold the infant New Year comes!

His looks a serious sweetness wear,
    As if upon that unseen way,
Those baby hands that lightly bear
    Garlands, and festive tokens gay,
    For but a glance,--a touch sufficed,--
Had met and touched the infant Christ!

And lingering on the wing, had heard,
    Sweeter than song of any bird,
Of cherub or of seraphim,
    The notes of that divinest hymn,--
    Glory to God in highest strain,
And peace on earth, good will to men.

Oh, diamond days, so royally set
    In winter's stern and rugged...

Kate Seymour Maclean

The New Year

Be welcome, year! with corn and sickle come;
    Make poor the body, but make rich the heart:
What man that bears his sheaves, gold-nodding, home,
    Will heed the paint rubbed from his groaning cart!

Nor leave behind thy fears and holy shames,
    Thy sorrows on the horizon hanging low--
Gray gathered fuel for the sunset-flames
    When joyous in death's harvest-home we go.

George MacDonald

A New Years' Gift Sent To Sir Simeon Steward

No news of navies burnt at seas;
No noise of late spawn'd tittyries;
No closet plot or open vent,
That frights men with a Parliament:
No new device or late-found trick,
To read by th' stars the kingdom's sick;
No gin to catch the State, or wring
The free-born nostril of the King,
We send to you; but here a jolly
Verse crown'd with ivy and with holly;
That tells of winter's tales and mirth
That milk-maids make about the hearth;
Of Christmas sports, the wassail-bowl,
That toss'd up, after Fox-i'-th'-hole;
Of Blind-man-buff, and of the care
That young men have to shoe the Mare;
Of twelf-tide cakes, of pease and beans,
Wherewith ye make those merry scenes,
Whenas ye chuse your king and queen,
And cry out, 'Hey for our town green!'
Of ash-heaps,...

Robert Herrick

New Year

Each year cometh with all his days,
Some are shadowed and some are bright;
He beckons us on until he stays
Kneeling with us 'neath Christmas night.

Kneeling under the stars that gem
The holy sky, o'er the humble place,
When the world's sweet Child of Bethlehem
Rested on Mary, full of grace.

Not only the Bethlehem in the East,
But altar Bethlehem everywhere,
When the ~Gloria~ of the first great feast
Rings forth its gladness on the air.

Each year seemeth loath to go,
And leave the joys of Christmas day;
In lands of sun and in lands of snow,
The year still longs awhile to stay.

A little while, 'tis hard to part
From this Christ blessed here below,
Old year! and in thy aged heart
I hear thee sing so sweet and low.

Abram Joseph Ryan

The New Year.

Lift up thy torch, O Year, and let us see
        What Destiny
Hath made thee heir to at nativity!

Doubt, some call Faith; and ancient Wrong and Might,
        Whom some name Right;
And Darkness, that the purblind world calls Light.

Despair, with Hope's brave form; and Hate, who goes
        In Friendship's clothes;
And Happiness, the mask of many woes.

Neglect, whom Merit serves; Lust, to whom, see,
        Love bends the knee;
And Selfishness, who preacheth charity.

Vice, in whose dungeon Virtue lies in chains;
        And Cares and Pains,
That on the throne of Pleasure hold their reigns.

Corruption, known as Honesty; and Fame
        That's but a name;
And Innocence, the outward guise of Shame.

And Folly, men ca...

Madison Julius Cawein

The New Year.

        ROSH-HASHANAH, 5643.


Not while the snow-shroud round dead earth is rolled,
And naked branches point to frozen skies, -
When orchards burn their lamps of fiery gold,
The grape glows like a jewel, and the corn
A sea of beauty and abundance lies,
    Then the new year is born.


Look where the mother of the months uplifts
In the green clearness of the unsunned West,
Her ivory horn of plenty, dropping gifts,
Cool, harvest-feeding dews, fine-winnowed light;
Tired labor with fruition, joy and rest
    Profusely to requite.


Blow, Israel, the sacred cornet! Call
Back to thy courts whatever faint heart throb
With thine ancestral blood, thy need craves all.
The red, dark year is dead, the year just born
Leads on from anguis...

Emma Lazarus