Actions of the last age are like almanacs of the last year.
'T is sweet, as year by year we lose
Friends out of sight, in faith to muse
How grows in Paradise our store.
At Christmas play and make good cheer,
For Christmas comes but once a year.
The melancholy days are come, the saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds and naked woods and meadows brown and sear.
You must wake and call me early, call me early, mother dear;
To-morrow 'll be the happiest time of all the glad New Year,—
Of all the glad New Year, mother, the maddest, merriest day;
For I'm to be Queen o' the May, mother, I'm to be queen o' the May.
Since heaven's eternal year is thine.
A man's ingress into the world is naked and bare,
His progress through the world is trouble and care;
And lastly, his egress out of the world, is nobody knows where.
If we do well here, we shall do well there:
I can tell you no more if I preach a whole year.
I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude,
And with forc'd fingers rude
Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year.
There's hope a great man's memory may outlive his life half a year.
Think naught a trifle, though it small appear;
Small sands the mountain, moments make the year,
And trifles life.
Thou hast no sorrow in thy song,
No winter in thy year.
A man he was to all the country dear,
And passing rich with forty pounds a year.
These as they change, Almighty Father! these
Are but the varied God. The rolling year
Is full of Thee.
Thus with the year
Seasons return; but not to me returns
Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn,
Or sight of vernal bloom or summer's rose,
Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine;
But cloud instead, and ever-during dark
Surrounds me; from the cheerful ways of men
Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair
Presented with a universal blank
Of Nature's works, to me expung'd and raz'd,
And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out.
That gems the starry girdle of the year.
O, what a world of vile ill-favour'd faults
Looks handsome in three hundred pounds a year!
In those vernal seasons of the year, when the air is calm and pleasant, it were an injury and sullenness against Nature not to go out and see her riches, and partake in her rejoicing with heaven and earth.
If all the year were playing holidays,
To sport would be as tedious as to work.
Where are the snows of last year?
See, Winter comes to rule the varied year.
O Winter, ruler of the inverted year!
And hiving wisdom with each studious year.