"Farewell, thy destiny is done,
Thy ebbing sands we tell,
Blended and set with centuries gone -
Thou dying year, farewell.
Gifts from thy hand - Spring's joyous leaves,
And Summer's breathing flowers,
Autumn's bright fruit and bursting sheaves -
These blessings have been ours.
They pass with thee and now they seem
Like gifts from fairy spells
Or like some sweet remembered dream -
We bid those gifts farewell."
- Mrs. Jones, Thou Dying Year, Farewell
Montreal Vindicator, January 6, 1829