They say that the year is old and gray,
That his eyes are dim with sorrow;
But what care we, though he pass away?
For the New Year comes tomorrow.

No sighs have we for the roses fled,
No tears for the vanished summer;
Fresh flowers will spring where the old are dead,
To welcome the glad new comer.

He brings us a gift from the beautiful land
We see, in our rosy dreaming,
Where the wonderful castles of fancy stand
In magical sunshine gleaming.

Then sing, young hearts that are full of cheer,
With never a thought of sorrow;
The old goes out, but the glad young year
Comes merrily in tomorrow.

More verses by Emily Huntington Miller

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