WE stand above the abyss; beneath our feet <br /> Around and onward infinite darkness rolls. <br /> The sky above is black; the watch-bell tolls <br />The dying year. While slow in silent feet <br />Pale ghosts come towards us from the ice-locked street <br />5 <br /> Of thought's great city; faces young and old, <br /> Eyes sunken, features set and deathly cold <br />And noiseless bear the dead year's winding-sheet. <br />But lo! where now we stand is worn with tread <br /> Of millions; in the darkness feel, the ground <br />10 <br /> Is dust of powdered bones; sure, on this peak <br />The years have died, and millions of the dead <br /> Have waited vainly through the gloom profound, <br /> For dawn of day or trumpet-voice to speak.<br /><br />Frederick George Scott<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/new-year-s-eve-24/
