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244

To a Late Fall Flower.

Rich, golden-hued, and fair!
Beautiful gem 'mid the surrounding blight!
Cheerfully wav'st thou there,
A blessing to the sight:
And lavishly dost thou thy sweets dispense—
A balmy pleasure to the longing sense.
When the fair buds of spring
Have burst, and bloom'd, and faded from the eye,
And the rich blossoming
Of summer hath pass'd by,
Thou com'st, 'mid chilling sleet, and winds that blight,
Gladdening the gloom—a star in Sorrow's night.
Thus, when youth's smooth, and fair,
And rose-leaf tinted cheek hath pass'd away;
And the rich, glossy hair,
Is dim, and thin, and grey;
And Time's fierce storms, and Age's wintry wind,
Have scathed the body, and just spared the mind;

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Then, 'mid the general gloom,
Bursts forth a light to guide the weary on,
Joyfully, to the tomb,
Where life's long march is done:
Light of the soul! that from its heavenly height
Dispels the darkness of the gathering night.