Poems (Hale)/"What is there saddening in the Autumn Leaves?"
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"WHAT IS THERE SADDENING IN THE AUTUMN LEAVES?"
Why, when the falling leaf
Strews with its glories many a forest glade,
Why should our secret spirits be dismayed?
Why should a spell of grief
Check the glad gushing of joy's fountain stream,
Or shed a blight o'er hope's rich, radiant dream?
Strews with its glories many a forest glade,
Why should our secret spirits be dismayed?
Why should a spell of grief
Check the glad gushing of joy's fountain stream,
Or shed a blight o'er hope's rich, radiant dream?
Look on the gorgeous sight:
Thus Nature mocks the aspiring touch of Art,
Breathing a grace no limner could impart.
See the rich hues of light,
Varied and beautiful, around us shed,
Telling a tale of hope, though life be fled.
Thus Nature mocks the aspiring touch of Art,
Breathing a grace no limner could impart.
See the rich hues of light,
Varied and beautiful, around us shed,
Telling a tale of hope, though life be fled.
Of faith and hope they tell,—
A hope unchanging to the spirit given,
A lofty faith that links our love to heaven.
A sweet and gentle spell,
Breathed in love's language, checks our secret fear,
And whispers gladness, though decay be near.
A hope unchanging to the spirit given,
A lofty faith that links our love to heaven.
A sweet and gentle spell,
Breathed in love's language, checks our secret fear,
And whispers gladness, though decay be near.
Shall not Spring's gentle breath,
The fount which feeds each floweret's rich perfume,
Waken to life its freshness and its bloom?
Beyond the vale of death,
Eternal Spring breathes through the scented air,
And flowers, which know no fading, blossom there.
The fount which feeds each floweret's rich perfume,
Waken to life its freshness and its bloom?
Beyond the vale of death,
Eternal Spring breathes through the scented air,
And flowers, which know no fading, blossom there.
Doth not man's beauty die?
E'en as the dying flower, the fading hue,
As bright and glorious, as transient t0o?
Doth not the weeping eye,
The sorrowing heart, its mournful tribute pay,
When life's fair blossoms wither and decay?
E'en as the dying flower, the fading hue,
As bright and glorious, as transient t0o?
Doth not the weeping eye,
The sorrowing heart, its mournful tribute pay,
When life's fair blossoms wither and decay?
Yet, as Spring's quickening breath
Yearly the forest's foliage renews,
Life through our souls God's Spirit shall infuse.
Where is thy power, O Death!
To chain the souls, that, struggling to be free,
May blissful share God's own eternity?
Yearly the forest's foliage renews,
Life through our souls God's Spirit shall infuse.
Where is thy power, O Death!
To chain the souls, that, struggling to be free,
May blissful share God's own eternity?