THE DYING YEAR.

                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.