The passing of a year exalted thus,

Time’s ending now in merriment proclaimed

As if a dreaded tyrant fallen was—

And so deposed, a celebration framed.

But ruthless Time is never here undone,

No mourning or rejoicing brings him peace;

His ordained circuit ‘round that sovereign sun—

How many turns bring mortals to their knees?

Hope lies in dawning—hence the revelry,

Though every passing year brings much the same;

And though we dream of providence to see,

By equal share, damnation lays its claim:

Yet good or bad, whatever comes to pass,

On thoughts of you, I’ll ever raise a glass.