Part 2 — NEW YEAR MEDITATION.

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BY ENNA DUVAL.

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’Tis midnight.

Lo! the Old Year stands upon

The threshold of the Past. To God it speeds

Its way, but bears a burden, for I see

Its form bend drooping with the weary weight

Of evil deeds, and feelings harsh and cold.

Farewell, Old Year! With light heart full of joy

I greeted thee, before thou mad’st thy sad

And bitter revelations to my soul.

Temptations, grievous trials thou didst bring,

And sorrow’s blinding, overwhelming tide.

And yet I leave thee with a grateful heart,

Thou stern but blest Instructor! Lessons harsh

Of thee I’ve learned, but strength’ning have they been:

And though thou bearest with thee record sad

Of my poor deeds, and goodness left undone,

That fills my heart with sorrow for the past,

Bright blessed hopes like angels hover round

This coming year.

Hail, then, thou unknown one!

I see proceeding from thee spirit forms;

They are my future hours, good or bad.

Mysterious shapes are they. Their mantles hang

Around them dark and heavy—hooded, veiled,

They give no sign of sorrow, nor of joy.

Slowly each form advances; and to me

Alone is given the right to raise those veils;

But as I lift each hood, upon the face

Beneath, my spirit traces there a mute

But yet unchanging record of my thoughts⁠—

A faithful impress of my inner self⁠—

Then past recall the hour floats away!

A gift these hours have in charge for me.

My weal or wo they hold—my light—my shade.

Dark sorrow they may bring me—bitter tears⁠—

Or sunny joys—bright Laughter’s merry crew

May playful lurk behind those gloomy folds

But if to me the right were given to lift

Those veils, before the ordered time, and know

The gifts they bring—I’d pause. I do not seek

To know my future. This I humbly ask,

In joy or wo, that God may give to me

A firm, strong faith, and purity of heart.

With gifts divine like these, my future years

Might come unfeared, and pass without regret

Or sad remorse.

And now, my soul, regard

This new-born year, just launching on the sea

Of life. Twelve moons will roll around, and thou

May’st stand as now, with sad and heavy thoughts,

Upon its brink, and see with hopeless tears

This year float from thee. Dark and mist-like shapes,

Dim spirit forms may hover o’er the past.

Forms that were once, like youth’s sweet visions, bright

And filled with glory—resolutions, hopes,

And thoughts of what thou purposed to have been;

But unfulfilled and fading there may float⁠—

These are the forms that spectre-like may haunt

And darken then thy past.

Think well of this,

My soul, and ere within the portal dark

Of this unknown and silent future thou

Dost float, remember that within thyself

No power lies. Thou may’st have brilliant dreams,

And aspirations grand and holy thou

May’st cherish—aimless, futile all, without

The aid and strength which God alone can give;

Pray then to Him for faith, confiding, true,

And strength to make thy resolutions firm⁠—

For all the good that in thy future thou

Wouldst purpose to perform ask aid of Him.

Then with this help divine thou need’st not dread

Dark Sorrow’s form, nor Pleasure’s tempting smiles,

And when the future years which God may give,

Have each their changing cycles rolled around,

Then floated off unto the solemn Past⁠—

When life’s last hour comes, with drooping wing,

And thou art borne unto the judgment seat

Of God! Eternity’s dread bar! o’er thee

No shadows dark will hang, but Faith’s bright form,

And heav’nly Love, will clasp thee round, and bear

Thee up unto thy Father, God!

THE WIDOW OF NAIN.