174 
That from sweet Hebe’s chaplet gay 
Another rose has pass’d away. 
The closing year—a louder note 
For manhood’s stormier hour ’tis sounding; 
Athwart the thousand schemes which float, 
The hopes which in his heart are bounding, 
The cares which vex him and enthral, 
It throws a dark funereal pall. 
The closing year—to age, dim age, 
A low and solemn dirge ’tis singing: 
It sternly bids him disengage 
Each hope, each thought, to earth that’s clinging, 
And opens to his waning eye 
The grave where he so soon must lie. 
The closing year—would that it found 
Youth, manhood, age but meet for glory ! 
Then little recks it whether crown’d 
With budding rose, or tresses hoary 
We sink to rest—years then will be 
Merged in a bright eternity ! 
