The record of another year
Is quickly being sealed;
The weal and woe that it has wrought
Both hidden and revealed.
The snowy garb of winter days,
The frost-work on the trees,
First vanished 'neath the balmy breath
Of springtime's pleasant breeze.
Then springtime's blossoms drifted down
And carpeted the earth,
And joyfully we turn to hail
Fair summer's rose-crowned birth.
She ruled awhile, then laid aside
Her flower-spangled crown;
And autumn's wealth of golden fruit
On us was showered down.
The emerald leaves first turned to gold,
Then faded, pale and dry;
And now the trees their bare, gaunt limbs
Are stretching to the sky.
Old Time speeds on, and very soon
Another year will dawn;
And this with all its joy and grief
Will be forever gone.
December 8, 1868.