At the New Year

In the shape of this night, in the still fall
      of snow, Father
In all that is cold and tiny, these little birds
      and children
In everything that moves tonight, the trolleys
    and the lovers, Father
In the great hush of country, in the ugly noise
      of our cities
In this deep throw of stars, in those trenches
      where the dead are, Father
In all the wide land waiting, and in the liners
    out on the black water
In all that has been said bravely, in all that is
      mean anywhere in the world, Father
In all that is good and lovely, in every house
      where sham and hatred are
In the name of those who wait, in the sound
    of angry voices, Father
Before the bells ring, before this little point in time
      has rushed us on
Before this clean moment has gone, before this night
    turns to face tomorrow, Father
There is this high singing in the air
Forever this sorrowful human face in eternity’s window
And there are other bells that we would ring, Father
Other bells that we would ring.