The year is dead, the year is done,
Rise up daughter, sibling, son:
The year is dead, the year is gone.

Gather your arms your plowshare, and victory,
Go down to the valley, rejoicing and hungry:
Cast up the lots and make all you merry.

For the next year is come, and the battle to coming,
The fields for the plowing, the vines for the planting,
Begin again truly: in victory shining.

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