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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