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Show THE OLD AND THE NEW Tomorrow never cc.ikw, the sjy, And yet n year is as a day, As wo shall know tomorrow. Tonight the old year goes to rest, Ills thin hands folded on his breast, His withered lips together pressed, And with him goe3 his sorrow. Tonight, ero gray tho morning grows, An Infant, still in swaddling clothes, - Will como to earth to greet us. The bells will clamor at tJo gate, Will shout aloud: "You're late! You're late!" Within his hands ho holds our fate, Yet laughing, comes to meet us. An old yenr goes, a now year comes, The sound of bells nnd muffled drums Are over close together. The borderland 'twlxt life and death Is but a step across the heath. Ono spans it in a single breath Ho dark or bright tho weather. Tonight the old year folds his wings, Lies down to sleep nmong tho kings That wnlt across tho river. To nineteen twelve we say "goodby!" To nineteen thirteen, drawing nigh, For mercy we may vainly cry And time goes on forever. . , Cincinnati Commercial Tribune. |