What record bearest thou, departed Year,
To the dim chambers of Eternity?
Thy purpose is accomplished—and with thee
We meet no more for ever!—meet not here—
Though it may be that in some future hour,
Summoned by Death before Jehovah’s throne
Spirit of Time! our trembling souls shall own
The presence of thy now unheeded power,
As with the history of hours misspent—
The squandered gifts of the Beneficent—
Thou point’st thy phantom-finger, dim and cold,
To the dark record of our guilt, unrolled
Before a gathered world! Oh God forgive
The errors of the past, and teach us how to live!
