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"As the annual frost is cropping
Leaves and tendrils from the trees,
So my friends are yearly dropping
With old age and dire disease.

Former friends oh how I have sought them,
Just to sooth my drooping mind,
But they're gone, like leaves in autumn,
Driven before the driving wind.

When a few more years I've wasted,
When a few more springs are o'er,
When a few more griefs I've tasted,
I shall fall to rise no more.

Fast my sun of lights declining,
Soon will set in endless night;
But my hopes are pure, refining,
Best in future light and life.

Cease this fearing, trembling, sighing,
Death shall break the solemn gloom,
Soon my spirits fluttering, flying,
Shall be wafted to the tomb."

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