Long have the poets vaunted, in their lays,
Old times, old loves, old friendship, and old wine.
Why should the old monopolise all praise ?
Then let the new claim mine.
Give me strong new friends, when the old prove weak,
Or fail me in my darkest hour of need ;
Why perish with the ship that springs a leak,
Or lean upon a reed ?
Give me new love, warm, palpitating, sweet,
When all the grace and beauty leaves the old ;
When like a rose it withers at my feet,
Or like a hearth grows cold.
Give me new times, bright with a prosperous cheer,
In place of old, tear-blotted, burdened days ;
I hold a sunlit present far more dear,
And worthy of my praise.
When the old creeds are threadbare, and worn through,
And all too narrow for the broadening soul,
Give me the fine, firm texture of the new,
Fair, beautiful and whole!
--Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
The Evening Bulletin [Philadelphia] 30 Jan. 1901: 7.