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50
Poems.
A farewell to the day,
Where the wild waters meet.




ON THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR.
Farewell! farewell thou dying year,
Thy race is nearly run;
A few brief moments linger here,
And then thy journey 's done.
No monument of marbled fame,
Will mark thy swift career;
But thy calm moments, in their wane,
Shall be remembered here.

Like the winged arrow on its way,
Thou leav'st no trace behind;
Or as the sun's declining ray,
As the unfettered wind.
And noiseless as 'the lightsome fall
Of snow upon the earth,
Thou movest along, regardless all
Of sorrow or of mirth.

There is no power, or charm below,
Can check the course of Time;
It onward glides with gentle flow,
In solitude sublime;