 | Thoughts in Verse |  |
110
THE PASSING YEAR.
The year is going, pace by pace,
And memories cluster round.
He now has well-nigh run his race;
He hastens to his mound—
His grave beside the other years.
He dies; but his death brings no tears.
And memories cluster round.
He now has well-nigh run his race;
He hastens to his mound—
His grave beside the other years.
He dies; but his death brings no tears.
Cheerless and cold his life has grown;
Aged and hoar is he;
Full many a swath his scythe has mown,
In strength of full degree;
But now, the old man's work is done;
The clock strikes twelve—his race is run!
Aged and hoar is he;
Full many a swath his scythe has mown,
In strength of full degree;
But now, the old man's work is done;
The clock strikes twelve—his race is run!
Our life is like the passing year:—
It opens fair and bright,
With smile and song—then comes the tear;
And then the chill of night.
Only a span to us is given—
Cling not to earth; but live for Heaven!
It opens fair and bright,
With smile and song—then comes the tear;
And then the chill of night.
Only a span to us is given—
Cling not to earth; but live for Heaven!
For soon shall come the glad New Year
Of never ending peace;
The angel chorus! Jesus near!
And joys that never cease.
Speed on, then, years! I shall be free!
Not told by years Eternity!
Of never ending peace;
The angel chorus! Jesus near!
And joys that never cease.
Speed on, then, years! I shall be free!
Not told by years Eternity!
| Thoughts in Verse | |