“Who is this little one lying,”
Said Time, “at my garden-gate,
Moaning and sobbing and crying,
Out in the cold so late?”
“They lurked until we came near,
Master and I,” the child said,
“Then caught me, with ‘Welcome, New-year!
Happy Year! Golden-head!’
“See Christmas-day, my Master,
On the meadow a mile away!
Father Time, make me run faster!
I’m the Shadow of Christmas-day!”
“Run, my child; still he’s in sight!
Only look well to his track;
Little Shadow, run like the light,
He misses you at his back!”
Old Time sat down in the sun
On a grave-stone—his legs were numb:
“When the boy to his master has run,”
He said, “Heaven’s New Year is come!”