Sunday, April 20, 2014

                1.         Does it not seem but yesterday
                                    This dying year was born,
                        And Age and Youth, all blithe and gay,
                                    Approached its festive morn?
                        But li! ‘tis gone, as quick as dream,
                                    With Time’s unceasing tide;
                        Yet “on the sands of Time” there gleam
                                    Its traces deep and wide.

            2.         To many a soul this year has lent
                                    From Danger’s threats relief;
                        And many a soul, too, it has sent
                                    To ruin, pain and grief.
                        While those it bless’d with all their needs
                                    Its praise in triumph sing,
                        The hearts it crushed like broken reeds
                                    Its death-knell fain would ring.

            3.         But it is not the change of year
                                    That joy or grief does bring;
                        For in himself a man does bear
                                    Of joy and grief the spring,
                        And he, by working, heart and soul,
                                    In love to man and God,
                        Through thick and thin, can reach his goal
                                    And make himself his lord.

            4.         Tho’ acts of rulers, rashly made,
                                    His soaring flights restrain,
                        Tho’ drinking booths his soul invade
                                    At every street and lane,
                        Tho’ sickness, want, and poverty
                                    His ailing heart assail,
                        Yet man can work his liberty,
                                    If strength of will prevail.

            5.         And hence, brood not on what is past,
                                    And waste thy time, my friend,
                        But live in the present, which thou hast,
                                    And work but with this end,
                        That day by day, thy soul may grow
                                    In wisdom more and more,
                        And each revolving year may show
                                    A greater growth than ‘fore.

            R. R. G.

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