REFLECTIONS

ON

HOGMANAI. *

* Last Night of the Year

WHAT solemn sound is this I hear!
The Clock strikes Twelve this night!
Here I may stop and sore lament,
Time past yields small delight!

The Eighty-sev'n is now begun,
The Eighty-six is past;
Though with my Friends I now have joy,
Yet this may be my last!

Sure this, or some one, in few years,
Makes me to be no more!
A few unhealthful, painful days,
Puts life's poor play quite o'er!

'Tis death alone I wish to shift,
And fain would try to shun;
But ev'ry hour proclaims aloud;
My glass is nearly run!

Soon shall the bell proclaim I'm dead-
My bed's in yon cold grave!
Soon shall my Spirit take it's flight,
To Him who it me gave,

And join society, unknown
To me while I drew breath!
Since this is certain, all my care's
To be prepar'd for death!

Then why should I so anxious be,
And so much wish to know,
Whether kind heav'n give me short life,
Or num'rous years below?

If this year Eighty-sev'n's my last,
Eternal Wisdom! grant,
That I may keep death in my view,
Prepar'd for the event!

Time, like a flood, runs with career
And can't return again;
The moments of the former year
Are as they ne'er had been!

Earth to the Earth returns again,
And dust unto it's dust:
The present time is only ours;
The future we can't trust!

He only lives that's still content,
And free of anxious cares,
What does enjoy the present time
And not the future fears!

Who virtue loves through all his life,
And lets all troubles fly;
He's happy while he's here on Earth;
And happy shall he die!

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