THE DYING YEAR.
Tho scroll of Destiny unrolls : The Present melts into tho Past: Hark ! to tho midnight bell that tolls Eleven strokes, and then the last. Tho sound yet lingers on tho ear, P»ut eighteen eighty-seven is gono ; Its mysteries now are nil made clear What was to be, has been, 'tis done. Of those, the new-born year who greet Willi feeble heart, or pulses strong ; None know the doom they go to meet 1 >oath strikes tho old, nor spares the young 'Tis bettor thus: our fate concealed, We smile, nor hood the coming woo ; Tf but the future were revealed Few happy moments should we know. The sun that shines so bright to-day, But cheers the life it may not save ; Another year its beams will play On flowers that bloom above a grave. Death is the common lot we know Tho when and how we're wisely spared Since all must meet the coming blow 'Tis wise at least to bo prepared.
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https://paperspast.natlib.govt.nz/newspapers/WT18880107.2.29.13
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Waikato Times, Volume XXX, Issue 2417, 7 January 1888, Page 2 (Supplement)
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165THE DYING YEAR. Waikato Times, Volume XXX, Issue 2417, 7 January 1888, Page 2 (Supplement)
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