Women of the Early Harlem Renaissance: African American Women Writers 1900-1922

The Watcher

A faithful watcher sits alone,
   And waits to see the Old Year die;
And sober are the thoughts that come,
   As silently the hours slip by: —

The dear Old Year is almost gone;
   Full soon I'll say a sad "Farewell;"
I ask myself, what good I've done;
   What deeds of love have I to tell?

Have I been patient, kind, and just,
   Forgiving, loving, faithful, true,
During the year that dies tonight.
   And yields his scepter to the New.

Perchance, I have more patient been,
   More faithful, than in years now gone.
But, ah, I've greater heights to win,
   Trusting the Grace that leads me on.

And this, 'my pray'r tonight shall be,
   While glad bells chime: 'The guest is here."
Oh, gracious Father, guide Thou me,
   And keep Thy children through this year!

The watcher ends his simple pray'r,
   And lo! a deep peace tills his soul;
He fearless greets the glad New Year,
   For God, the Father, has control.

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