Poems.
37
His precepts may we all obey,
And celebrate his birth,
And celebrate his birth,
And as each passing season brings,
In its revolving round,
The birth-day of the King of Kings,
May all our hearts abound
With gratitude and purest love,
To Him who dwells on high;
Whose throne, eternal, is above,
Whose empire, earth, sea, sky.
In its revolving round,
The birth-day of the King of Kings,
May all our hearts abound
With gratitude and purest love,
To Him who dwells on high;
Whose throne, eternal, is above,
Whose empire, earth, sea, sky.
AUTUMN.
Summer hath passed, and its sweets are gone,
The lovely flowers and the bird's gay song:
The once green leaves lie scattered and sere,
The cold—cold earth is their funeral bier,
While their dying requiem is hoarsely sung,
By the Autumn breeze in the woods among.
Not a vestige remains of the once gay scene,
When nature was clothed in a robe of green,
All things are stamped with the word decay;
All lovely scenes are fast passing away;
Not a flower is seen to glad the eye,
The lovely flowers and the bird's gay song:
The once green leaves lie scattered and sere,
The cold—cold earth is their funeral bier,
While their dying requiem is hoarsely sung,
By the Autumn breeze in the woods among.
Not a vestige remains of the once gay scene,
When nature was clothed in a robe of green,
All things are stamped with the word decay;
All lovely scenes are fast passing away;
Not a flower is seen to glad the eye,
