The Royal Messenger

'I come,' the New Year saith, 'unbid by man, And all the world must look upon my face; And some thro' sorrow's tears my visage scan, Striving to see thereon one touch of grace. 'I come, and marvel at the crouching fear Which souls display when I in silence take The Old Year gently from his darkened bier, And bid the world to joy and rapture wake. 'O weary hearts! think ye I come alone, Unaided, and a wanderer from some clime? Think ye that in my soul no love is sown, That I, unguided, winged the aisles of Time? 'Nay, for a Hand Supreme to me was given, And I was led adown the shadowy land; I am the gift of naught save hope and heaven, Bidden by God to speak His high command.'