BY EVA E. AMES.
Shake hands, old year! and call it square.
We'll bear no malice, you or I.
Each meant to play the other fair
And true, I hope, as time flew by.
My failures and mistakes you knew,
But judged me kindly just the same,
And if the victories were few
My motives you could rightly name.
You may have thought I missed my way
Sometimes, and failed to wisely choose
Twixt this or that, as, day by day,
We played the game of gain or lose;
I may have flet you owed me more
Of this world's goods than I received:
A fuller measure of Earth's store,
Or friends, in whom I had believed.
You gave me time to do my best;
I tried and failed—the common fate.
We do not realize the rest of life
Until the hour is late,
And if achievements small are mine—
All through the days so lately gone,
True sentinels adown the line
Signal—"'T is better — further on."
Farewell! and shall we meet no more?
Our ways so different lie—old friend,
Adrift—in touch with memories' shore,
You fade from sight around the bend.
New years may come—as yet unborn,
And take their places at your side,
Before Eternity's fair morn
For me shall fling the portals wide.
And though I wait, and vainly grieve,
For loved ones whom no more I see,
And blessings flown, they—I believe—
In greater measure wait for me.
I'll keep your memory fair and green,
Would I could bury, at your brink,
Misunderstandings, cold and keen,
That bid the heart in anguish shrink.
And does there beat a heart so cold
It feels no need of love—or heaven?
So proud and perfect in its mold
It can't forgive—and be forgiven?
Good-bye! We'll not regret the past:
The way to both was all untried,
Our labor was before the mast
Of discipline, and high the tide.
A harbor opens—wide and fair,
The new year glides into the sea.
With snowwhite sail, and beauty rare,
She enters on her voyage free.
The storms will sweep across her bow,
And clouds obscure her joyous sky.
For life means that—this life of now—
Old year! old friend! good-bye! Good-bye!
South Wallingford, Vt.
Troy Times. December 30, 1922: 3 col 3.