SONG FOR THE SEASON. 
511 
Merrily pours, as it sings and soars, 
The West wind over the land and seas, 
Till it plays in the forest, and moans and roars, 
Seeming no longer a mirthful breeze! 
So Music is blest, till it meeteth a hreast 
That is probed by the strain, while Memory grieves 
To think it was sung by a loved one at rest, 
Then it comes like the sweet wind in Autumn leaves! 
Nor in an hour are leaf and flower 
Stricken in freshness and swept to decay; 
By gentle approaches, the frost and the shower, 
Make ready the sap veins for falling away! 
And so is Man made to as peacefully fade, 
By the tears that he sheds, and the sigh that be heaves, 
For he’s loosened from earth by each trial-cloud’s shade, 
Till he’s willing to go, as the Autumn leaves I 
Look back, look back, and you’ll find the track 
Of human hearts strown thickly o’er 
With Joy’s dead leaves, all dry and black, 
And every year still flinging more. 
But the soil is fed, where the branches are shed 
For the furrow to bring forth fuller sheaves, 
And so is our trust in the future spread 
In the gloom of Mortality’s Autumn leaves! 
