Ring.

IN MEMORIUM

Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky,

   The flying cloud, the frosty light:

   The year is dying in the night;

Ring out, wild bells, and let him die.

Ring out the old, ring in the new,

   Ring, happy bells, across the snow:

   The year is going, let him go;

Ring out the false, ring in the true.

Ring out the grief that saps the mind

   For those that here we see no more;

   Ring out the feud of rich and poor,

Ring in redress to all mankind.

Ring out a slowly dying cause,

   And ancient forms of party strife;

   Ring in the nobler modes of life,

With sweeter manners, purer laws.

Ring out the want, the care, the sin,

   The faithless coldness of the times;

   Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes

But ring the fuller minstrel in.

Ring out false pride in place and blood,

   The civic slander and the spite;

   Ring in the love of truth and right,

Ring in the common love of good.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease;

   Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;

   Ring out the thousand wars of old,

Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,

   The larger heart, the kindlier hand;

   Ring out the darkness of the land,

Ring in the Christ that is to be.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Nearer.

 Shishkin, In the Wild North, 1891

AT the END of the YEAR -- BLESSINGS

As this year draws to its end,

We give thanks for the gifts it brought

And how they became inlaid within

Where neither time nor tide can touch them.

The days when the veil lifted

And the soul could see delight;

When a quiver caressed the heart

In the sheer exuberance of being here.

Surprises that came awake

In forgotten corners of old fields

Where expectation seemed to have quenched.

The slow, brooding times

When all was awkward

And the wave in the mind

Pierced every sore with salt.

The darkened days that stopped

The confidence of the dawn.

Days when beloved faces shone brighter

With light from beyond themselves;

And from the granite of some secret sorrow

A stream of buried tears loosened.

We bless this year for all we learned,

For all we loved and lost

And for the quiet way it brought us

Nearer to our invisible destination.

John O’Donohue

Thanks, Ors.

Notice.

Murchison, Chesterton, 1915

Doubtless this division of time can be described as an artificiality; but doubtless also it can be described more correctly, as a great artificial thing ought always to be described – that is, as one of the great masterpieces of man. Man has, as I have urged in the case of religion, perceived with a tolerable accuracy his own needs. He has seen that we tend to tire of the most eternal splendours, and that a mark on our calendar, or a crash of bells at midnight maybe, reminds us that we have only recently been created. Let us make New Year resolutions, but not only resolutions to be good, but also resolutions to notice that we have feet, and thank them (with a courtly bow) for carrying us.

G.K. Chesterton, from Daily News, January 1, 1901

Jethro Tull, "Life's a Long Song"

Bless.

Collins, Bread and Butter, 2022

The PASSING of the YEAR

My glass is filled, my pipe is lit,

     My den is all a cosy glow;

And snug before the fire I sit,

     And wait to feel the old year go.

I dedicate to solemn thought

     Amid my too-unthinking days,

This sober moment, sadly fraught

     With much of blame, with little praise.

Old Year! upon the Stage of Time

     You stand to bow your last adieu;

A moment, and the prompter’s chime

     Will ring the curtain down on you.

Your mien is sad, your step is slow;

     You falter as a Sage in pain;

Yet turn, Old Year, before you go,

     And face your audience again.

That sphinx-like face, remote, austere,

     Let us all read, whate’er the cost:

O Maiden! why that bitter tear?

     Is it for dear one you have lost?

Is it for fond illusion gone?

     For trusted lover proved untrue?

O sweet girl-face, so sad, so wan

     What hath the Old Year meant to you?

And you, O neighbour on my right

     So sleek, so prosperously clad!

What see you in that aged wight

     That makes your smile so gay and glad?

What opportunity unmissed?

     What golden gain, what pride of place?

What splendid hope? O Optimist!

     What read you in that withered face?

And You, deep shrinking in the gloom,

     What find you in that filmy gaze?

What menace of a tragic doom?

     What dark, condemning yesterdays?

What urge to crime, what evil done?

     What cold, confronting shape of fear?

O haggard, haunted, hidden One

     What see you in the dying year?

And so from face to face I flit,

     The countless eyes that stare and stare;

Some are with approbation lit,

     And some are shadowed with despair.

Some show a smile and some a frown;

     Some joy and hope, some pain and woe:

Enough! Oh, ring the curtain down!

     Old weary year! it's time to go.

My pipe is out, my glass is dry;

     My fire is almost ashes too;

But once again, before you go,

     And I prepare to meet the New:

Old Year! a parting word that’s true,

     For we’ve been comrades, you and I—

I thank God for each day of you;

     There! bless you now! Old Year, good-bye!

Robert W. Service

Frolic.

A NEW-YEERE GIFT

Sent To Sir Simeon Steward

No news of navies burnt at seas;

No noise of late spawn'd tittyries;

No closet plot or open vent,

That frights men with a Parliament:

No new device or late-found trick,

To read by th' stars the kingdom's sick;

No gin to catch the State, or wring

The free-born nostril of the King,

We send to you; but here a jolly

Verse crown'd with ivy and with holly;

That tells of winter's tales and mirth

That milk-maids make about the hearth;

Of Christmas sports, the wassail-bowl,

That tost up, after fox-i'-th'-hole;

Of blind-man-buff, and of the care

That young men have to shoe the mare;

Of twelfth-tide cakes, of pease and beans,

Wherewith ye make those merry scenes,

Whenas ye chuse your king and queen,

And cry out, Hey for our town green!

Of ash-heaps, in the which ye use

Husbands and wives by streaks to chuse;

Of crackling laurel, which fore-sounds

A plenteous harvest to your grounds;

Of these, and such like things, for shift,

We send instead of New-year's gift.

Read then, and when your faces shine

With buxom meat and cap'ring wine,

Remember us in cups full crown'd,

And let our city-health go round,

Quite through the young maids and the men,

To the ninth number, if not ten;

Until the fired chestnuts leap

For joy to see the fruits ye reap,

From the plump chalice and the cup

That tempts till it be tossed up. ‒

Then as ye sit about your embers,

Call not to mind those fled Decembers;

But think on these, that are t' appear,

As daughters to the instant year;

Sit crowned with rose-buds, and carouse,

Till Liber Pater twirls the house

About your ears, and lay upon

The year, your cares, that's fled and gone:

And let the russet swains the plough

And harrow hang up resting now;

And to the bag-pipe all address,

Till sleep takes place of weariness.

And thus throughout, with Christmas plays,

Frolic the full twelve holidays.

Robert Herrick

Strauss, The Artist's Life, Op. 316

Philippe Jordan conducts the Vienna Symphony ...

Velde, The English Ship Royal Sovereign with a Royal Yacht in a Light Air (detail), 1703 

May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you're wonderful, and don't forget to make some art -- write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself.

Neil Gaiman

Jethro Tull, "Life's a Long Song"

Clear.

Waiteth.

Millais, Death of the Old Year, 1857

The DEATH of the OLD YEAR

Full knee-deep lies the winter snow,

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.

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 truelove

And the New-year will take 'em away.

       Old year you must not go;

       So long you have been with us,

       Such joy as you have seen with us,

       Old year, you shall not go.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Still.

Wyeth, N.C., Fox in Winter, 1935

TO the NEW YEAR

With what stillness at last

you appear in the valley

your first sunlight reaching down

to touch the tips of a few

high leaves that do not stir

as though they had not noticed

and did not know you at all

then the voice of a dove calls

from far away in itself

to the hush of the morning

so this is the sound of you

here and now whether or not

anyone hears it this is

where we have come with our age

our knowledge such as it is

and our hopes such as they are

invisible before us

untouched and still possible

W.S. Merwin

All's.

Homer, The Lookout – “All’s Well”, 1896

Happy New Year.

Frolic.

A NEW-YEERE GIFT

Sent To Sir Simeon Steward

No news of navies burnt at seas;

No noise of late spawn'd tittyries;

No closet plot or open vent,

That frights men with a Parliament:

No new device or late-found trick,

To read by th' stars the kingdom's sick;

No gin to catch the State, or wring

The free-born nostril of the King,

We send to you; but here a jolly

Verse crown'd with ivy and with holly;

That tells of winter's tales and mirth

That milk-maids make about the hearth;

Of Christmas sports, the wassail-bowl,

That tost up, after fox-i'-th'-hole;

Of blind-man-buff, and of the care

That young men have to shoe the mare;

Of twelfth-tide cakes, of pease and beans,

Wherewith ye make those merry scenes,

Whenas ye chuse your king and queen,

And cry out, Hey for our town green!

Of ash-heaps, in the which ye use

Husbands and wives by streaks to chuse;

Of crackling laurel, which fore-sounds

A plenteous harvest to your grounds;

Of these, and such like things, for shift,

We send instead of New-year's gift.

Read then, and when your faces shine

With buxom meat and cap'ring wine,

Remember us in cups full crown'd,

And let our city-health go round,

Quite through the young maids and the men,

To the ninth number, if not ten;

Until the fired chestnuts leap

For joy to see the fruits ye reap,

From the plump chalice and the cup

That tempts till it be tossed up. ‒

Then as ye sit about your embers,

Call not to mind those fled Decembers;

But think on these, that are t' appear,

As daughters to the instant year;

Sit crowned with rose-buds, and carouse,

Till Liber Pater twirls the house

About your ears, and lay upon

The year, your cares, that's fled and gone:

And let the russet swains the plough

And harrow hang up resting now;

And to the bag-pipe all address,

Till sleep takes place of weariness.

And thus throughout, with Christmas plays,

Frolic the full twelve holidays.

Robert Herrick

Do.

I hope that in this year to come, you make mistakes.

Because if you are making mistakes, then you are making new things, trying new things, learning, living, pushing yourself, changing yourself, changing your world. You're doing things you've never done before, and more importantly, you're Doing Something.

So that's my wish for you, and all of us, and my wish for myself. Make New Mistakes. Make glorious, amazing mistakes. Make mistakes nobody's ever made before. Don't freeze, don't stop, don't worry that it isn't good enough, or it isn't perfect, whatever it is: art, or love, or work or family or life.

Whatever it is you're scared of doing, do it.

Make your mistakes, next year and forever.

Neil Gaiman

Good.

Happy.

Afresh.

The object of a New Year is not that we should have a new year. It is that we should have a new soul and a new nose; new feet, a new backbone, new ears, and new eyes. Unless a particular man made New Year resolutions, he would make no resolutions. Unless a man starts afresh about things, he will certainly do nothing effective.

G.K. Chesterton

Unceasingly.

Degrees.

NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS

I am resolved throughout the year
To lay my vices on the shelf
A godly, sober course to steer
And love my neighbours as myself –
Excepting always two or three
Whom I detest as they hate me.

I am resolved – that whist is low —
Especially with cars like mine –
It guts a health Bank-book – so
These earthly pleasures I resign.
Except – and here I see no sin –
When asked by others to “cut in”.

I am resolved – no more o’ dance
With ingenues – so help me Venus!
It gives the Chaperone her chance
For hinting Heaven knows what between us.
The Ballroom and the Altar stand
Too close in this suspicous land.
(N. B.) But I will (her ten names) abandon?
No, while I have a leg to stand on!

I am resolved – to sell my horses,
They cannot stay, they will not go,
They lead me into evil courses
Wherefore I mean to part with – No!
Cut out that resolution – I’ll
Try Jilt to-morrow on the mile.

I am resolved – to flirt no more,
It leads to strife and tribulation;
Not that I used to flirt before,
But as a bar against temptation.
Her I except (cut out the names)
Perfectly Platonic flames.

I am resolved – to drop my smokes,
The Trichi has an evil taste
I cannot buy the brand of Oakes
But lest I take a step in haste,
And so upset my health, I choose a
“More perfect way: in pipes and Poona.

I am resolved – that vows like these
Though lightly made, are hard to keep
Wherefore I’ll take them by degrees,
Lest my back-slidings make me weep.
One vow a year will see me through;
And I’ll begin with number two.

Rudyard Kipling