As rising clouds shadow the glory of day,
For life has all changes—is joyous or drear,
Like the seasons that make up thy round, hoary year!
And many more cycles will swiftly roll past,
With changes, and sunshine, and gloom like the last,
Giving new birth to the blossom and rill,
And voices will praise them when mine shall be still,
And others will welcome with gladness or tears,
The hope and the promise of many more years.
Oh, year that is vanished! I bid thee farewell,