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Show THE PASSING YEAR. The sobbing wind, the lowing sky, The tremblins. withered !enf. Now mourn the Summer's days gone b All nature's robed in grief. The leafless trees, so lone and sad. Are bending in the blast: No more fcr thm the flame and gold, Their day of splendor's passed. And, as I watch the falling rain O'er city, sea and wold. A thought steals o'er me fraught with pain The year is growing old. ' j Thus, year by year, the flowers- fade As seasons come and go; A few short monti'.s of tribute paid, Then comes the Winter's snow. But Hope foretells that coming Spring, With grateful- sun and shov'ers. To saddened earth again will bring Its former wealth of flowers. I As life draws near its; Autumn days, j Each season shorter seems: We're borne along o'er stormy ways, t-oaving our cherished dreams. And when our year has reached it close, And we have gone to sleep With lov.d ones in sweet repose, No one for us should weco. For God is Father over all: He gave us life and breath: Through Him. when' passed beyond recall, We'll triumph over death. Jean Patterson in The Ram's- Horn. |