Lydia Huntley Sigourney

New-Year's Morning

Wake, dear ones, 'tis the New-Year's morn,
And many a wish for you is born,
And many a prayer, of spirit true
Breaks from paternal lips for you.

No more the vales with daisies glow,
The violets sleep, beneath the snow,
The rose her radiant robes doth fold
And hides her buds from winter's cold.

But Spring, with gentle smile shall call
Up from their beds, those slumberers all
Fresh verdure o'er your path shall swell,
The brook its tuneful story tell,
And graceful flowers, with varied bloom,
Again your garden's bound perfume.

Ye are our buds; and in your breast
The promise of our hope doth rest.

When knowledge, like the breath of Spring,
Shall wake your minds to blossoming,
May their unfolding germs disclose,
More than the fragrance of the rose,
More than the brightness of the stream
That through green shades, with sparkling gleam
In peace and purity doth glide
On to the Ocean's mighty tide.

The country too, which gave you birth,
That freest, happiest clime on earth,
To all, to each, with fervour cries,
"Oh for my sake, be good, be wise,
Seek knowledge, and with studious pain,
Resolve, her priceless gold to gain.

Shun the strong cup, whose poisonous tide
To ruin's dark abyss, doth guide,
And with the sons of virtue stand,
The bulwark of your native land.

Me would you serve? This day begin
The fear of God, the dread of sin;
Love, for instruction's watchful care,
The patient task, the nightly prayer;
So shall you glitter as a gem,
Bound in my brightest diadem."