Iii

Then saw I how the New Year Came like a scheming man, With icy eyes, his forehead Wrinkled by care and plan

For trade and rule and profit. To him the fading child Looked up and cried, "Oh, brother!" But died even while it smiled.

Down bent the harsh new-comer To lift with loving arm The wanderer mute and fallen; And lo! his eyes were warm;

All changed he grew; the wrinkles Vanished: he, too, looked young-- As if that lost child's spirit Into his breast had sprung.

So are those lives not wasted, Too frail to bear the fray. So Years may die, yet leave us Young hearts in a world grown gray.