Passing of the Old Year

O come to me in my dreams love! And cheer me on my way; And bid me look to a higher land For the dawn of a brighter day. Then breathe to heaven an earnest prayer To bless, ere you depart, With perfect love and childlike faith, This sad, despondent heart.

Ah, do not fail to come love, For I’ll woo my slumber to-night; I’ll lay me down to sweet repose, And wait for thee and light. Then hie to my bower on wings of love, Ah, linger not by the way, But solace this heart and bid it hope, For the dawn of a brighter day.

’Twas a cloudless morn and the sun shone bright, And dewdrops sparkled clear; And the hills and the vales of this Western land Were wreathed with garlands rare. For verdant spring with her emerald robe Had decked the forest trees; Whilst e’er and anon the vine-clad boughs Waved in the playful breeze.

All, all was still, not a sound was heard, Save the music of each tree, As gracefully it bent and bowed Its branches o’er the lea. But hark! a sound, ’tis the Red man’s tread, Breaks on the silent air; And a sturdy warrior issues forth, Robed in his native gear.

And wandering on, he neared the brook; Then sat him down to rest; ’Twas a noble sight⁠—that warrior free⁠— That Monarch of the West. He gazed around. O! a wistful gaze Saddened his upturned brow, As he thought of those he’d fondly loved, Of those now laid so low.

He mused aloud “Great Spirit!” list To the Indian’s earnest plea; And tell me why, from his own loved home, Must the Indian driven be. When the “Pale Face” came to our genial clime, We wondered and were glad; Then hied us to our chieftain’s lodge, Our noble “Flying Cloud.”

We told him all, and he calmly said He’d gladly give them place; And if friends they proved, perchance, extend The calumet of peace. But soon, alas! the dread truth rang That the Pale Face was our foe; For he made our warriors bite the dust⁠— Our children lie so low.

So now, my own, dear, sunny land, Each, woodland and each dell, Once the Indian’s home, now the Indian’s grave, I bid a last farewell. To the “Great Spirit’s” hunting-ground, To meet my long-lost bride, My “Raven Wing” I gladly hie⁠— He said, then calmly died.

Come, let us join this festal lay⁠— Hurra, Hurra, Come, let us join this festal lay, And let our anthems all be gay, And sing aloud for this glad day Should brighten every heart:⁠—

We’ll sing of heroes who have fought⁠— Hurra, Hurra, We’ll sing of heroes who have fought, Who to their country’s altar brought, And on her sacred ensign wrought, The tree of liberty.

We’ll sing of martyrs who have died⁠— Hurra, Hurra, We’ll sing of martyrs who have died, From severed ranks, as side by side They bravely stemmed the gory tide. To ransom brother man.