|
YES autumn is upon us, the summer past and gone, No longer sings the cricket on the grass-green carpet lawn, No longer whirls the katydid, with song and best of cheer, Because the summer-time has passed and autumn now is here. The leaves which crowned the maple-tops and cast their shade about, No longer breathe the draft of life, hence they are dying out; Those veins which coursed across their face, no longer throb or show The life which marked the brighter side, with summer's sun aglow ; The chilling frosts, the gloomy storms, the searching winds have told The advent of more stormy days, that come, and growing old They rustle forth their sad sweet song, to echo evermore Their mystic tunes, like broken harps, where sweet they sang before. They fall and crumble at our feet, as on we careless tread Forgetting all the joy they brought; forgetting they are dead; Forgetting though the form is gone, the power and the will May be dissolved --we call it dead -- yet may be living still. And when we see the dropping leaves, "like man," we wonder why That all the handiwork of God seems sadly prone to die; We use the term, of death, 't is true, and rightly it may be- But how much sweeter seems the word, of sleep, than death to me! Yet that Great Hand which nurtures all, and leads us up the steep; That guides us out across the plain and by the surging deep; To Him it matters not I trow, the name by which is known The tearing down of life's frail house, so we get safely home. |
