The Turn of the Years

HOW may we know you, year of all?

You come as others came,

Night-sandaled, and your flying feet

Set bells a-swing in every street—

But you are dumb.

We run, unwearied travelers

Still on the upward slope

Of life, to take your strong young hand,

To search, to dare, to understand—

Pilgrims of hope.

You lead us on, you lead us up;

We seek your avatar

By fords of faith, the pass of tears,

Peaks of delight—O rest of years,

You take us far!

And then you go. We hear your voice,

We know your name at last,

You were the Future that we sought,

And all the years may bring us naught

But you, the Past.