The New Year - The Old Year

A poem to say good-bye to the old year and welcome the new year. While the old year may have memories of joy and grief, we look forward to a fresh start that the new year brings. With each new year, we hope for better things to come.

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The New Year - The Old Year
by Caleb Davis Bradlee


The Old year is going, — "good-bye," let us say,
To its joys and its griefs that haunt us this day!
The New Year is coming, — "All hail," let us cry,
And fresh rules of our lives again let us try.

The Old Year is going, and sad is our heart;
With work but half finished, we from it must part.
The New Year is coming, again we will pray
We may round off each task as God gives the day.

The Old Year is going, God wipe off the wrong
That to each one s heart does most surely belong!
The New Year is coming, God speed on the right,
And flood our poor souls with his all-cleansing light!

The Old Year is going, farewell to our friend!
Grand was thy coming, and most calm is thy end.
The New Year comes quickly, we hope for the best!
We'll do all we can, and trust God for the rest.

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Another New Year's poem that you may also enjoy:

Another Year
Poet: John White Chadwick


That this shall be a better year
Than any passed away,
I dare not at its open door
To wish or hope or pray.

Not that the years already gone
Were wearisome and lone;
That so with hope too long deferred
My heart has timid grown.

Nay, rather that they all have been
So sweet to me and good.
That if for better I should ask
'Twould seem ingratitude.

And so with things far off and strange
I do not care to cope,
But look in Memory's face and learn
What largess I may hope:

Another year of setting suns,
Of stars by night revealed,
Of springing grass, of tender buds
By winter's snow concealed.

Another year of summer's glow.
Of autumn's gold and brown,
Of waving fields, and ruddy fruit
The branches weighing down.

Another year of happy work,
Which better is than play;
Of simple cares, and love that grows
More sweet from day to day.

Another year of baby mirth,
And childhood's blessed ways,
Of thinker's thought, and prophet's dream,
And poet's tender lays.

Another year at Beauty's feast,
At every moment spread.
Of silent hours when grow distinct
The voices of the dead.

Another year to follow hard
Where better souls have trod;
Another year of life's delight,
Another year of God.



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