Mobile Mystic Societies

The olden golden stories of the world,         That stirred the past,      And now are dim as dreams,     The lays and legends which the bards unfurled         In lines that last,      All -- rhymed with glooms and gleams.     Fragments and fancies writ on many a page         By deathless pen,     And names, and deeds that all along each age,         Thrill hearts of men.     And pictures erstwhile framed in sun or shade         Of many climes,     And life's great poems that can never fade         Nor lose their chimes;     And acts and facts that must forever ring         Like temple bells,     That sound or seem to sound where angels sing         Vesper farewells;     And scenes where smiles are strangely touching tears,         'Tis ever thus,     Strange Mystics! in the meeting of the years         Ye bring to us     All these, and more; ye make us smile and sigh,         Strange power ye hold!     When New Year kneels low in the star-aisled sky         And asks the Old     To bless us all with love, and life, and light,         And when they fold     Each other in their arms, ye stir the sight,         We look, and lo!     The past is passing, and the present seems         To wish to go.     Ye pass between them on your mystic way         Thro' scene and scene,     The Old Year marches through your ranks, away         To what has been,     The while the pageant moves, it scarcely seems         Apart of earth;     The Old Year dies -- and heaven crowns with gleams         The New Year's birth.     And you -- you crown yourselves with heaven's grace         To enter here;     A prayer -- ascending from an orphan face,         Or just one tear     May meet you in the years that are to be         A blessing rare.     Ye pass beneath the arch of charity,         Who passeth there     Is blest in heaven, and is blest on earth,         And God will care,     Beyond the Old Year's death and New Year's birth,         For each of you, ye Mystics! everywhere.