New Year's Eve

Frederick George Scott was a Canadian poet and author, known as the Poet of the Laurentians.






WE stand above the abyss; beneath our feet
  Around and onward infinite darkness rolls.
  The sky above is black; the watch-bell tolls
The dying year. While slow in silent feet
Pale ghosts come towards us from the ice-locked street
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  Of thought's great city; faces young and old,
  Eyes sunken, features set and deathly cold
And noiseless bear the dead year's winding-sheet.
But lo! where now we stand is worn with tread
  Of millions; in the darkness feel, the ground
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  Is dust of powdered bones; sure, on this peak
The years have died, and millions of the dead
  Have waited vainly through the gloom profound,
  For dawn of day or trumpet-voice to speak.

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