Hush! the year is dy­ing,
Soft, with­out a sound;
Snowflakes, shroud-like, ly­ing,
On the earth around;
All its striv­ings ov­er,
All its sto­ry done;
Now—its me­mo­ries hov­er
O’er a year be­gun.

Some of us were lone­ly
In its bright­est hours,
Sadly whis­per­ing, On­ly
Let Thy will be ours!
Some of us were tired
In its sum­mer days;
Weary, we de­sired
Gladder, bright­er ways.

We but seemed re­peat­ing
Changeless rounds of life,
Daily, hour­ly meet­ing
Well known cares and strife;
Life a lit­tle cold­er,
Fewer lov­ing smiles,
We but grow­ing old­er,
In fa­mil­iar whiles.

Now the year is ov­er,
Let us brav­er stand,
Seeking to dis­cov­er
His—our Fa­ther’s—hand;
Let us fol­low whol­ly,
Though our sight be dim;
He would make us ho­ly
For a life with Him.

Every day He sends us,
He Him­self pre­pares;
He Him­self at­tends us
Through its joys and cares;
His true love be­seech­ing,
Let us, then draw near;
Seeking guid­ance, teach­ing,
For the op­en­ing year.