I Pack My Trunk
By Amos Russel Wells
What shall I pack up to carry
From the old year to the new?
I’ll leave out the frets that harry,
Thoughts unjust and doubts untrue.
Angry words—ah, how I rue them!
Selfish deeds and choices blind—
Any one is weicome to them!
I shall leave them all behind.
Plans? the trunk would need be double.
Hopes? they’d burst the stoutest lid.
Sharp ambitions? last year’s stubble!
Take them, old year! Keep them hid!
All my fears shall be forsaken,
All my failures manifold;
Nothing gloomy shall be taken
To the new year from the old.
But I’ll pack the sweet remembrance
Of dear friendship’s least delight;
All my jokes—I’ll carry them hence;
All my store of fancies bright;
My contentment—would ’twere greater!
All the courage I possess;
All my trust—there’s not much weight there!
All my faith or more or less;
All my tasks! I’ll not abandon
One of these, my pride, my health;
Every trivial or grand one
Is a noble mine of wealth.
And I’ll pack my choicest treasure,
Smiles I’ve seen, and praises heard,
Memories of unselfish pleasure,
Cheery looks, the kindly word.
Ah, my riches silence cavil!
To my rags I hid adien!
Like a Croesus I shall travel
From the old year to the new.