Round the cradle of the tender
            Flows the music, shines the splendor;
It is early yet for counsel,—but bethink how Hermes gave,—
                (While the Myths were bright and brave),—
            Thwarted Phoebus no small battle,
            Seeking back his lifted cattle,—
                Hour-old Hermes, in his cave!

            New Year, if thy youth should blind us
            Thy swift feet, perchance, may find us
Sleeping in the dark,—unguarded,—as the sun-god’s herds were found!
                Lest, unready, on his round
            We be hurried,—World, take warning
            That already it is morning
                And a giant is unbound!

            Idle-handed yet, but willing,—
            Let us ponder ere the filling
Of his empty eager fingers with our heedless hot behest.
                Be our failures frank-confessed,—
            ’Mid the gush of gladsome greeting
            Requiem in our hearts repeating
                For the years that died unblest.

            How they came to us,—so precious!—
            How abode with us,—so gracious!—
Blindly doing all our bidding; stronger, swifter than we thought.
                Like the sprites by magic brought;
            Shaping dream to action for us;
            Till we stood,—beset with sorrows,—
                Wondering what ourselves had wrought!

            Ere the tightening of the tether
            Bind THIS YEAR and us together,
Let us pause awhile and ponder,—“Whither tend we side by side,—
                He who gallops,—we who guide?—
            Once we start,—like lost LENORE,
            Sung in Bürger’s ballad-story,
                Fast as ODIN’S Hunt,—we ride!