Page:Hand in hand; (IA handinhand00kipl).pdf/126

 Though no man may cast my horoscope, And fathom futurity. Plenty and ease, a garnered store, And the wealth of the fruitful earth, I may give perchance,—or famine sore And the pitiful pinch of dearth. I am the bringer to young and old, Of gifts that they shun and crave: Change, and sorrow, and love, and gold, And to some the gift of a grave. But to all the comfort of hope new-born. Of a sunrise dawning clear, That makes men smile on my First Day's morn, And speak of "A Happy New Year."