Classic Poem

The old man he is dead, young heir,
And gone to his long account:
Come, stand on his hearth, and sit in his chair,
And into his saddle mount!

The old man's face was a face to be fear'd,
But thine both loving and gay;
O, who would not choose for that stern white beard
A bright young cheek alway!

The old man he had outlived them all:
His friends, he said, were gone;
But hundreds are wassailing now in the hall,
And true friends every one!

The old man moaned both sore and long
Of pleasures past, he said;
But pleasures to come are the young heir's song,
The living, not the dead!

The old man babbled of old regrets,
Alack! how much he owed;
But the young heir has not a feather of debts
His heart withal to load!

The old man used to shudder, and seem
Remembering secret sin;
But the happy young heir is as if in a dream,
Paradise all within!

Alas! for the old man — where is he now?
And fear for thyself, young heir;
For he was innocent once as thou,
As ruddy, and blithe, and fair.

Reap wisdom from his furrowed face,
Cull counsel from his fear;
O, speed thee, young heir, in gifts and in grace,
And blessings on thee, New Year!