Go far from me, ye brood Of little Hates and Sins who thus intrude, Hide with the perished leaf below the mould; The Old Year’s shade is dim-- A touch, no more, upon the round world’s rim-- And all the sky a-glitter in the cold.
Stand closer, Faith and Truth And the long Patience that outlasts its youth, The hour is at the change; and, drawing near, There is a footstep’s sound, A measured fall upon the iron ground, And the earth, spell-bound, waits the coming year.
Come from your graves, O Lost! And stand, this once, beside me in the frost And turn, once more, your eyes upon my own; Leave, for the past’s old sake, Some look, some comrade’s sign for me to take, That, in the tossings of the time unknown, I may not be alone.
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THREE POEMS FOR CHILDREN