A New Year's Address, 1870.
With noiseless footstep, like the white-robed snow,
The old year with closed record steals away;
Record of gladness, suffering, joy, and woe,
Of all that goes to make life's little day.
Here, in this bright and pleasant little town,
As everywhere, a noiseless scythe hath swept;
The bright, the green, the flow'ret all cut down,
For heart ties severed loving hearts have wept.
And some are gone we very ill can spare,
And some we gladly would have died to save,
And the young blossom of the hearth, so fair;
But all alike have passed thy gates, oh, grave!
We see so many sable signs of woe,
Each, with mute voice, memento mori saith;
As if our town that erst has sparkled so
Were passing through the vale and shade of ...