JOYFUL, in Scotland's royal city,
Thousands hailed the infant year;*
And, with welcome warm and witty,
Poured around the maddening cheer.
All was joy and all was gladness,
All was revelry and song;
Why, then, with unwonted sadness,
Throbbed my heart amid the throng?
I thought, Edina, of the numbers
Thou hast seen carousing here;
Now sunk, alas! in death's deep slumbers,
Reckless of the coming year.
I thought of man's short hour of pleasure,
And of sorrow's lengthened day;
Of ills protracted passing measure,
Joys that swiftly fleet away.
I thought of that dread hour of sorrow,
To the guilty sons of men,
When, after death's dark night, Aurora
Dawns not on their hopes again.
Then, when th' Archangel stands proclaiming
That old Time's last year has run;
When the world around is flaming,
And Eternity begun;
O, may we, with joy and gladness,
Hail the never ending year;
Nor, in wild despair and madness,
Tremble at its coming near.
Thousands hailed the infant year;*
And, with welcome warm and witty,
Poured around the maddening cheer.
All was joy and all was gladness,
All was revelry and song;
Why, then, with unwonted sadness,
Throbbed my heart amid the throng?
I thought, Edina, of the numbers
Thou hast seen carousing here;
Now sunk, alas! in death's deep slumbers,
Reckless of the coming year.
I thought of man's short hour of pleasure,
And of sorrow's lengthened day;
Of ills protracted passing measure,
Joys that swiftly fleet away.
I thought of that dread hour of sorrow,
To the guilty sons of men,
When, after death's dark night, Aurora
Dawns not on their hopes again.
Then, when th' Archangel stands proclaiming
That old Time's last year has run;
When the world around is flaming,
And Eternity begun;
O, may we, with joy and gladness,
Hail the never ending year;
Nor, in wild despair and madness,
Tremble at its coming near.
