The old year is almost dead;
He is feeble and withered and gray;
We gather around his death-bed,
And watch him passing away:
We think of the ill he has wrought—
We speak of the good he has brought—
And Memory her action is plying,
As the old year lies a-dying.

Tempest and havoc and death,
Murrain and shipwreck and grief;
Pestilence with its poisonous breath;
Battle bloody, though brief:
Kings of their crowns have been bereft,
Widows and orphans sorrowful left,
And the sounds of sadness and sighing
Greet the old year while a-dying.

But our thoughts are not all sad:
Freedom now claims for her own
Glorious regions where long her glad
Fair presence has been unknown.
Error is tottering on her throne,
Hemispheres have been linked in one,
Words of peace 'neath ocean are flying
As the old year lies a-dying.

We bid the old year good-bye;
We welcome blessing and ban,
As the lessons sent from on high
Teaching his duties to man.
Oh, may we gird us for the fight,
And in the cause of Truth and right
Let us be found together vying
As year after year lies a-dying!