A bird sang sweet and strongIn the top of the highest tree,He said, "I pour out my heart in songFor the summer that soon shall be."But deep in the shady wood,Another bird sang, "I pourMy heart on the solemn solitudeFor the springs that return no more."

The new year begins in a snow-storm of white vows.

The Old Year has gone. Let the dead past bury its own dead. The New Year has taken possession of the clock of time. All hail the duties and possibilities of the coming twelve months!

That it shall never come again is what makes life so sweet

"Old times" never come back and I suppose it's just as well. What comes back is a new morning every day in the year, and that's better.

And now let us believe in a long year that is given to us, new, untouched, full of things that have never been, full of work that has never been done, full of tasks, claims, and demands; and let us see that we learn to take it without letting fall too much of what it has to bestow upon those who demand of it necessary, serious, and great things.