Hush The Year Is Dying Soft Without


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 days 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.