Old Year! upon the Stage of Time You stand to bow your last adieu; A moment, and the prompter's chime Will ring the curtain down on you.

His life, though none too long, Was never dull: Of woman, wine and song Bill had his full.

Some praise the Lord for Light, The living spark; I thank God for the Night The healing dark.

Old Year! upon the Stage of Time You stand to bow your last adieu; A moment, and the prompter's chime Will ring the curtain down on you.

Be sure your wisest words are those you do not say.

Ah! the clock is always slow; it is later than you think.

And each forgets, as he strips and runs With a brilliant, fitful pace, It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones Who win in the lifelong race. And each forgets that his youth has fled, Forgets that his prime is past, Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead, In the glare of the truth at last.