The Old Year has gone. Let the dead past bury its own dead. The New Year has taken possession of the clock of time. All hail the duties and possibilities of the coming twelve months!

A bird sang sweet and strongIn the top of the highest tree,He said, "I pour out my heart in songFor the summer that soon shall be."But deep in the shady wood,Another bird sang, "I pourMy heart on the solemn solitudeFor the springs that return no more."

Happy New Year. I've really got nothing to say.

I wish you a happy New Year, ... I wish you happiness, all the very best. I want you to know that Russia highly appreciates what you are doing.

And ye, who have met with Adversity's blast, And been bow'd to the earth by its fury; To whom the Twelve Months, that have recently pass'd Were as harsh as a prejudiced jury - Still, fill to the Future! and join in our chime, The regrets of remembrance to cozen, And having obtained a New Trial of Time, Shout in hopes of a kindlier dozen.

Many are born many are gone