XXXVI.—A Last Ray of Sunshine
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Tell thy tale, old year,
Tell thy tale of pleasures,
Summon all thy joys,
Show thy hidden treasures.
Opening buds of spring,
Summer’s gorgeous flowers,
Cheered us on our way,
Decked the laughing hours.
E’en from fading leaves,
Telling us of sorrow,
Autummn’s richest hues,
Golden charms would borrow.
And now Christmas comes,
With its happy greetings,
Jest, and dance, and song,
Blessed fireside meetings.
Memory fondly turns
To her hoarded treasures,
Reckons o’er her wealth,
Counts her dearest pleasures.
Kindly written words,
Little gifts made dearer,
By the charm of love,
Drawing true friends nearer.
Many a loving glance,
Many a fond word spoken,
Tender friendships formed,
Old ones still unbroken.
Such thy tale, old year !
Quit us not in sadness ;
But in hearts most tried,
Leave some thoughts of gladness !
C. M. A. C.