January 1, 1828

Fleetly hath passed the year. The seasons came     Duly as they are wont, the gentle Spring,     And the deliscious Summer, and the cool,     Rich Autumn, with the nodding of the grain,     And Winter, like and old and hoary man,     Frosty and stiff, and are so chronicled,     We have read gladness in the new green leaf,     And in the first-blown violets; we have drunk     Cool water from the rock, and in the shade     Sunk to the noontide slumber; we have pluckd     The mellow fruitage of the bending tree,     And girded to our pleasant wanderings     When the cool wind came freshly from the hills;     And when the tinting of the Autumn leaves     Had faded from its glory, we have sat     By the good fires of Winter, and rejoiced     Over the fulness of the gathered sheaf.     God hath been very good! Tis He whose hand     Moulded the sunny hills, and hollowd out     The shelter of the valleys, and doth keep     The fountains in their secret places cool;     And it is he who leadeth up the sun,     And ordereth the starry influences,     And tempereth the keenness of the frost     And therefore, in the plenty of the feast,     And in the lifting of the cup, let Him     Have praises for the well-completed year