Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Autumn.
AUTUMN .
THE mellow tints of Autumn fell Across the heath and bosky dell ; The withered leaf there lightly lay , Seared and bescorched by solar ray . No gentle note of nightingale
Resounded through the hill or dale , A dead deep calm was felt around , The little nests gave out no sound . The air has lost its sweet perfume , The fresh'ning breeze that bids us bloom ;
The fragrant rose and lily pure Were each too fragile to endure . The harvest song of thankful praise With gladsome voice we loudly raise : What greater theme ?— " Our Father ' s care "—
The gathered crops—for us to share ! The muffled sound of passing-bell Rings in the ear with solemn knell : A happier chime is heard again To cheer us in this world of pain .
We watch each warning shade of doom , Each hour we count till winter ' s gloom : Each spot we mark to memory dear , Each sigh we ' ve breath'd now claims a teav !
The golden sun now sets in red , The light and shadow both have fled : Dark clouds enwrap that lovely sky , Like death they shew our destiny ! Ah yes ! to me these thoughts are grief
, In vain may Autumn bring relief —• A heart once torn by Winter ' s blast Can hope no more—its " Summer ' s " past !
November , 1880 . L . S .
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Autumn.
AUTUMN .
THE mellow tints of Autumn fell Across the heath and bosky dell ; The withered leaf there lightly lay , Seared and bescorched by solar ray . No gentle note of nightingale
Resounded through the hill or dale , A dead deep calm was felt around , The little nests gave out no sound . The air has lost its sweet perfume , The fresh'ning breeze that bids us bloom ;
The fragrant rose and lily pure Were each too fragile to endure . The harvest song of thankful praise With gladsome voice we loudly raise : What greater theme ?— " Our Father ' s care "—
The gathered crops—for us to share ! The muffled sound of passing-bell Rings in the ear with solemn knell : A happier chime is heard again To cheer us in this world of pain .
We watch each warning shade of doom , Each hour we count till winter ' s gloom : Each spot we mark to memory dear , Each sigh we ' ve breath'd now claims a teav !
The golden sun now sets in red , The light and shadow both have fled : Dark clouds enwrap that lovely sky , Like death they shew our destiny ! Ah yes ! to me these thoughts are grief
, In vain may Autumn bring relief —• A heart once torn by Winter ' s blast Can hope no more—its " Summer ' s " past !
November , 1880 . L . S .