THE CLOSING YEAR.



DROPPING, dropping, dropping,

Slowly dropping away; 

Like the silent sands of the hour-glass 

Drops the old year, day by day.

Dropping, dropping, dropping,

No sound of spoken word, 

But every day has a tale to tell,

Which only God has heard.

Dropping, dropping, dropping,

Swiftly dropping away; 

So go the years of the early life

On their appointed way.

Dropping, dropping, dropping,

Oh! Joy to see them go, 

If they tell a tale in our Father's ear

Of a holy life below. 




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