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| WITH what a glory comes and goes the year! | |
| The buds of spring, those beautiful harbingers | |
| Of sunny skies and cloudless times, enjoy | |
| Life’s newness, and earth’s garniture spread out; | |
| And when the silver habit of the clouds | 5 |
| Comes down upon the autumn sun, and with | |
| A sober gladness the old year takes up | |
| His bright inheritance of golden fruits, | |
| A pomp and pageant fill the splendid scene. | |
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| There is a beautiful spirit breathing now | 10 |
| Its mellow richness on the clustered trees, | |
| And, from a beaker full of richest dyes, | |
| Pouring new glory on the autumn woods, | |
| And dipping in warm light the pillared clouds. | |
| Morn on the mountain, like a summer bird, | 15 |
| Lifts up her purple wing, and in the vales | |
| The gentle wind, a sweet and passionate wooer, | |
| Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up life | |
| Within the solemn woods of ash deep-crimsoned, | |
| And silver beech, and maple yellow-leaved, | 20 |
| Where Autumn, like a faint old man, sits down | |
| By the wayside a-weary. Through the trees | |
| The golden robin moves. The purple finch, | |
| That on wild cherry and red cedar feeds, | |
| A winter bird, comes with its plaintive whistle, | 25 |
| And pecks by the witch-hazel, whilst aloud | |
| From cottage roofs the warbling bluebird sings, | |
| And merrily, with oft-repeated stroke, | |
| Sounds from the threshing-floor the busy flail. | |
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| Oh, what a glory doth this world put on | 30 |
| For him who, with a fervent heart, goes forth | |
| Under the bright and glorious sky, and looks | |
| On duties well performed, and days well spent! | |
| For him the wind, ay, and the yellow leaves, | |
| Shall have a voice, and give him eloquent teachings. | 35 |
| He shall so hear the solemn hymn that Death | |
| Has lifted up for all, that he shall go | |
| To his long resting-place without a tear. | |
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