Farewell To The Year Which Is Past Poem by Edward Henry Bickersteth

Farewell! to the year which is past.
No longer we reckon its hours;
Like a shadow behind us 'tis cast,
And its sorrows may only be ours.
The stream which has carried us by,
Ne'er stops for a moment its course;
On—onward, o'er rapids we fly,
Then plunge in the shoals of remorse.
Our joys are as light as the air,
Which in bubbles oft dance on the wave;
And as rocks the frail barque may impair,
So our troubles will find us a grave.