Poem February 1, 1900 Issue

Departure and Call

By KEYES BECKER.

Upon the wings of mystic gloom
The old year drifteth far from sight;
The final hours of latest night
Old Century's dying breath consume.

Then let them go! A fond farewell
To them for good they entertained.
They go, but ah! the good remained,
More good to do, more joy to tell.

The New Year with his stately bow
Awaits the zeal of your desire.
If goodness doth your heart inspire,
He says, "My time is yours from now."

Would you be happy?—hear that voice!
Help make your fellow-man more glad.
All selfish happiness is bad;
Unbounded pleasure waits your choice.

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