 | Miscellaneous Poems |  |
36
November
The autumn wind is moaning low the requiem of the year;
The days are growing short again, the fields forlorn and sere;
The sunny sky is waxing dim, and chill the hazy air;
And tossing trees before the breeze are turning brown and bare.
The days are growing short again, the fields forlorn and sere;
The sunny sky is waxing dim, and chill the hazy air;
And tossing trees before the breeze are turning brown and bare.
All nature and her children now prepare for rougher days:
The squirrel makes his winter bed, and hazel hoard purveys;
The sunny swallow spreads his wing to seek a brighter sky;
And boding owl, with nightly howl, says cloud and storm are nigh.
The squirrel makes his winter bed, and hazel hoard purveys;
37
And boding owl, with nightly howl, says cloud and storm are nigh.
No more 'tis sweet to walk abroad among the evening dews:
The flowers are fled from every path, with all their scents and hues:
The joyous bird no more is heard, save where his slender song
The robin drops, as meek he hops the withered leaves among.
The flowers are fled from every path, with all their scents and hues:
The joyous bird no more is heard, save where his slender song
The robin drops, as meek he hops the withered leaves among.
Those withered leaves, that slender song, a solemn truth convey,—
In wisdom's ear they speak aloud of frailty and decay:
They say that man's apportioned year shall have its winter too;
Shall rise and shine, and then decline, as all around him do.
In wisdom's ear they speak aloud of frailty and decay:
They say that man's apportioned year shall have its winter too;
Shall rise and shine, and then decline, as all around him do.
38
They tell him, all he has on earth, his brightest dearest things,
His loves and friendships, joys and hopes, have all their falls and springs:
A wave upon a moon-lit sea, a leaf before the blast,
A summer flower, an April hour, that gleams and hurries past.
His loves and friendships, joys and hopes, have all their falls and springs:
A wave upon a moon-lit sea, a leaf before the blast,
A summer flower, an April hour, that gleams and hurries past.
And be it so: I know it well: myself, and all that's mine,
Must roll on with the rolling year, and ripen to decline.
I do not shun the solemn truth: to him it is not drear
Whose hopes can rise above the skies, and see a Saviour near.
Must roll on with the rolling year, and ripen to decline.
I do not shun the solemn truth: to him it is not drear
Whose hopes can rise above the skies, and see a Saviour near.
39
It only makes him feel with joy, this earth is not his home;
It sends him on from present ills to brighter hours to come:
It bids him take with thankful heart whate'er his God may send,
Content to go through weal or woe to glory in the end.
It sends him on from present ills to brighter hours to come:
It bids him take with thankful heart whate'er his God may send,
Content to go through weal or woe to glory in the end.
Then murmur on, ye wintry winds; remind me of my doom:
Ye lengthened nights, still image forth the darkness of the tomb.
Eternal summer lights the heart where Jesus deigns to shine.
I mourn no loss, I shun no cross, so thou, O Lord, art mine!
Ye lengthened nights, still image forth the darkness of the tomb.
Eternal summer lights the heart where Jesus deigns to shine.
I mourn no loss, I shun no cross, so thou, O Lord, art mine!
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