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Poems Every Child Should Know

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<h3>The Death of the Old Year.</h3> <div class="pre_poem">It is customary, every New Year's eve in America, to ring bells, fire guns, send up rockets, and, in many other ways, to show joy and gratitude that the old year has been so kind, and that the new year is so auspicious. The emphasis in Tennyson's poem is laid on gratitude for past benefits so easily forgotten rather than upon the possible advantages of the unknown and untried future. </div> <table class="poem" summary="poem"><tr><td><div class="stanza"> <ins class="correction" title="Transcriber's note: Original indented this line.">Full knee-deep lies the winter snow,</ins> And the winter winds are wearily sighing: Toll ye the church-bell sad and slow, And tread softly and speak low, For the old year lies a-dying. Old year, you must not die; You came to us so readily, You lived with us so steadily, Old year, you shall not die. </div> <div class="stanza"> He lieth still: he doth not move: He will not see the dawn of day. He hath no other life above. He gave me a friend, and a true true-love, And the New-year will take 'em away. Old year, you must not go; So long as you have been with us, Such joy as you have seen with us, Old year, you shall not go. </div> <div class="stanza"> He froth'd his bumpers to the brim; A jollier year we shall not see. But tho' his eyes are waxing dim, And tho' his foes speak ill of him, He was a friend to me. Old year, you shall not die; We did so laugh and cry with you, I've half a mind to die with you, Old year, if you must die. </div> <div class="stanza"> He was full of joke and jest, But all his merry quips are o'er. To see him die, across the waste His son and heir doth ride post-haste, But he'll be dead before. Every one for his own. The night is starry and cold, my friend, And the New-year blithe and bold, my friend, Comes up to take his own. </div> <div class="stanza"> How hard he breathes! over the snow I heard just now the crowing cock. The shadows flicker to and fro: The cricket chirps: the light burns low: 'Tis nearly twelve o'clock. Shake hands, before you die. Old year, we'll dearly rue for you: What is it we can do for you? Speak out before you die. </div> <div class="stanza"> His face is growing sharp and thin. Alack! our friend is gone. Close up his eyes: tie up his chin: Step from the corpse, and let him in That standeth there alone, And waiteth at the door. There's a new foot on the floor, my friend, And a new face at the door, my friend, A new face at the door. </div> </td></tr></table> Alfred Tennyson. <h3>Abou Ben Adhem.</h3> <div class="pre_poem">"Abou Ben Adhem" has won its way to the popular heart because the "Brotherhood of Man" is the motto of this age. (1784-1859.) </div> <table class="poem" summary="poem"><tr><td><div class="stanza"> Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!) Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw within the moonlight in his room, Making it rich and like a lily in bloom, An angel writing in a book of gold. </div> <div class="stanza"> Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold; And to the presence in the room he said, "What writest thou?" The vision raised its head, And, with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered, "The names of those who love the Lord." </div> <div class="stanza"> "And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so," Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, But cheerly still; and said, "I pray thee, then, Write me as one that loves his fellow-men." </div> <div class="stanza"> The angel wrote, and vanished. The next night It came again, with a great wakening light, And showed the names whom love of God had blessed; And, lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest. </div> </td></tr></table> Leigh Hunt. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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