BY BENJ. F. LEGGETT.
The temple arches of the midnight glow
With diamond splendors o'er the hills of snow.
A bended form with wrinkled visage waits
Before the threshold of the temple gates.
With snowy beard and frosty staff he stands,
And backward looks across the dusky lands.
The old light glows and kindles in his eyes
While past his gaze the visions sweep and rise.
The shadowed faces of the nation's turn
To him for blessing, while they wait and yearn.
While Afric's land emerging from eclipse
Sits dumb no more with silence on her lips.
And Asia looks across a hemisphere
Expectant, for the morning to appear—
While Europe's discord holds its vengeful sway
And breaks the world's broad charm of peace to-day,
Columbia, crowned with clustered stars appears
With all the glory of her hundred years!—
Above all lands which war's red passion mars
The Old year's faith stands higher than the stars.
And while he waits, the soft and mellow chime
Of jangled sweetness from the bells of time
Breaks into song,—the gates of midnight swing,
And he is gone—the young New Year is king!
Troy Daily Times. January 6, 1877