Page:Florence Earle Coates Mine and Thine 1904 126.jpg

 The self-effacing sorrow,

The generous desire,

The pledges for the morrow,

Enkindled at this fire!—

Enkindled here, O dying year!

Where smoulders low thy pyre.

What hope and what ambition,

What dreams beyond recall!

And look we for fruition,

To find them ashes all?

Is life the wraith of love—of faith?

Then let the darkness fall!

The sparks—how fast they dwindle!

How faint their being glows!

Quickly the fire rekindle—

Ah, quickly! e'er it goes!