142
TO MY BOY.
NCE more, once more, the dying yearTrembles beside the gulph of time;
And yet how few the days appear
Since first we hailed her hour of prime!
It scarcely seems one month ago
That we beheld her morn arise,
And thought upon the joy or woe
Might light or dim her future skies.
And now that solemn hour draws nigh,
When every heart must pause again,
And ponder o'er the days gone by,
The awful future's shortening span:
Shadows around the past may close,
But lights are there both bright and clear,
Such as on this glad day arose,
To gild and cheer our pathway here.
When every heart must pause again,
And ponder o'er the days gone by,
The awful future's shortening span:
Shadows around the past may close,
But lights are there both bright and clear,
Such as on this glad day arose,
To gild and cheer our pathway here.
My boy, one year has passed away
Since thy sweet eyes awoke on earth,
And first on this auspicious day,
With thankful joy we hailed thy birth.
Since thy sweet eyes awoke on earth,
And first on this auspicious day,
With thankful joy we hailed thy birth.
