Be welcome, year! with corn and sickle come;
Make poor the body, but make rich the heart:
What man that bears his sheaves, gold-nodding, home,
Will heed the paint rubbed from his groaning cart!
Nor leave behind thy fears and holy shames,
Thy sorrows on the horizon hanging low-
Gray gathered fuel for the sunset-flames
When joyous in death's harvest-home we go.
The New Year
George Macdonald
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Poem topics: death, heart, poor, sunset, horizon, gold, holy, year, body, home, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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