As, one by one, these autumn leaves, descending
To droop and die,
In rustled murmurs, breathe one soft unending
Sad threnody,
Till branch and bough, whereon no vestige lingers
Of summer bloom.
Trace out upon the sky, with withered fingers.
Their wintry doom:
So, one by one, these earthly hopes we cherish —
More dearly prized.
Perchance, than Heaven itself — fall off and perish
Unrealized,
And leave us, with life's winter o'er us stealing.
And skies o'ercast,
With bared and outstretched arms for help appealing
To Heaven at last.
