The New Year

The hour is drawing near
Beside the clear blue lake
The world is hushed and still
The storm, about to break

The clock is creeping ’round
The time is growing short
The door is opened wide
The guests have ceased all sport

A mighty sound resounds
And with that first loud strike
A torrent gushes forth
Released from mighty dike

Eleven more loud “bongs”
Boom forth. But no one hears.
The New Year, here at last.
The best of all the years.

Who heeds the racing clock
As o’er the joyful world
Reign parties at there heighth
While playful jests are hurled.

But now the sky grows light
The morning here so soon?