Time's footsteps quickly die away,
Soon emptied is his glass;
We wait for an oncoming Day
Which nevermore shall pass.
Old hopes revive, new hopes are born,
The coming months to cheer;
And phantom-fears and griefs outworn
Die with the dying year.
Oh, all the years and all the days
Our waiting hearts shall be
Harps tremulous with His dear praise
Whose is Eternity!
S. Barnabas' : December 31, 1883.