THE INDIAN SUMMER. 
277 
Sorrow’s rugged stem, like thine, 
Bears a flower thus purely bright; 
Thus, when sunny hours decline, 
Friendship sheds her cheering light. 
Religion, too, that heavenly flower, 
That joy of never-fading worth. 
Waits, like thee, the darkest hour, 
Then puts all her glories forth. 
Then thy beauties are surpassed, 
Splendid flower, that bloom’st to die; 
For Friendship and Religion last 
When the morning beams on high. 
James Dixon. 
Y1THEN the Summer breezes have died away, 
T And the Autumn winds are drear, 
And the forests have changed their green array, 
For the hues of the dying year ; 
There comes a season, brief and bright, 
When the zephyrs breathe with a gentle swell, 
And the sunshine plays with a softer light, 
Like the Summer’s last farewell. 
