We have come to the turn of the road, old year.
Where at last we are fated to part,
Aye, you with a crown of silvery stars,
And a Christmas rose at your heart.
As the gaze of the world bends tenderly
O'er the trail of thy vanishing feet,
And even thy broken harp-strings waft
A lingering cadence sweet.
We have come to the turn of the road, old year,
Where at last we are fated to say
Farewell, as the chalice of dawn steals forth
Through yon deepening clouds of gray.
Yet the rose leaves linger and tenderly fall
O'er thy hands as they wave adieu,
And the sweet young face of a newborn day
Smileth down from its cradle of blue.
ANNIE M. TOOHEY.
Troy Times. December 31, 1913: 4 col 4.