Hello and welcome to the Daily Poem. I'm Heidi White, filling in for David Kern. It's an important day, a

significant day. It is January 1st, 2020. So happy New Year to all of you listeners. And in honor of the

new year, I am reading a New Year's poem, New Year's Morning by Helen Hunt Jackson.

Only a night from old to new, only a night and so much rot.

The old year's heart all weary grew, but said, the new year rest has brought. The old year's hopes its heart laid down,

as in a grave, but trusting said, the blossoms of the New Year's crown bloom from the ashes of the

dead. The old year's heart was full of greed, with selfishness, it longed and ached, and cried,

I have not have I need. My thirst is bitter and unslaked, but to the New Year's generous hand,

all gifts in plenty shall return. True love it shall understand. By all my failures, it shall learn. I have been

reckless that it shall be, quiet and calm and pure of life. I was a slave. It shall go free,

and find sweet peace where I leave strife. Only a night from old to new.

Never a night such change is brought.

The old year had its work to do.

No new year miracles are wrought.

Always a night from old to new.

Night in the healing balm of sleep.

Each morn as New Year's mourn come true.

Mourn of a festival to keep.

All nights are sacred nights to make, confession and resolve and prayer.

All days are sacred days to wake, new gladness in the sunny air.

Only a night from old to new.

Only asleep from night to morn.

...