 | Poems |  |
94
[Ye woodlands mourn, ye fields, ye streams, ]
Written by request during a season of very gloomy weather in August
Ye woodlands mourn, ye fields, ye streams,
Ye swelling buds, ye blushing flowers!
Mourn for the bright and sunny beams—
Oh, mourn for Summer's stolen hours!
Yon little bird with folded wing,
That cowers 'neath the dripping bough,
Has not the heart a song to sing;
Where are its merry playmates now?
Ye swelling buds, ye blushing flowers!
Mourn for the bright and sunny beams—
Oh, mourn for Summer's stolen hours!
Yon little bird with folded wing,
That cowers 'neath the dripping bough,
Has not the heart a song to sing;
Where are its merry playmates now?
Thou summer sun, shine forth again,
And shed thy grief-dispelling rays!
Smile yet on woodland, stream, and plain,
And bless us with thy glorious days.
So when the storms of life oppress
And fell Despair sits brooding near,
Bursts forth the Sun of Righteousness
To cheer the heart and dry the tear.
And shed thy grief-dispelling rays!
Smile yet on woodland, stream, and plain,
And bless us with thy glorious days.
So when the storms of life oppress
And fell Despair sits brooding near,
Bursts forth the Sun of Righteousness
To cheer the heart and dry the tear.
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