Take down the fad­ed wreaths,
Untwine the gar­lands gay,
Though that glad time we hung them up
Seems but as yes­ter­day.
And from their crumb­ling leaves
We still can al­most hear
The ech­oes of the ca­rols sweet
And greet­ings of new year.

But ah! full well we know
The fest­ive sea­son’s o’er;
And tread­ing in life’s dus­ty ways
We find our­selves once more.
More swift than wheels of steam
The gold­en hours have rolled;
And while we dreamed the year was young,
We wake to find it old.

Now clear above the din
Of dai­ly toil and care,
We hear again in so­lemn tones
The Lent­en call to pray­er:
Now turn from plea­sure’s round,
A high­er joy to find
In fel­low­ship with Him whose death
Gave life to all man­kind.

Thus do the years go on,
And times and sea­sons glide,
Till soon the story of our life
Is closed and laid aside.
Ah! Life’s a mys­tic page!
In vain we strive to scan
The hid­den thought be­tween the lines—
God’s pur­pos­es to man.