About New Year's I grit my teeth, I brace my feet an' swear
      Thet I'll rastle with ol' Satan an' down him everywhere...
An' so, on January first, 'neath Virtue's soft caress,
      I feel all soaked in sanctity, an' steeped in righteousness,
      A sort er walkin' meetin'-house, all sin-born fears are fled—
      For, don't the righteous own the earth, an' ain't the devil dead?
But the day after New Year's Day, the devil moves his head,
      An' I am all broke up to find the old scamp isn't dead;
      An' later in the afternoon, he jest begins to blink,
      An' has the cheek to lift his head, 'an cock his eye an' wink...
~Sam Walter Foss (1858–1911), "New Year Righteousness," Back Country Poems, 1892

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