Classic Poem

Warm'd by the Sun's effulgent Blaze,
Now, Autumn all its Store displays;
Here Ceres, Goddess heav'nly fair,
Auspicious reigns, Pomona there:
The Blossom, that by Zephyrs nurst,
Labour'd the swelling Bud to burst;
That, cheer'd by Phœbus' genial Pow'r,
Summer beheld a blooming Flow'r;
Now ripe, its blushing Honours bears,
Still lovelier in each Shape it wears.
 Now to the golden Fields repair
The jolly Swain and buxom fair;
Content, the while, stands smiling round,
Cheerful they clear the cumber'd Ground;
With harmless Chat beguile the Day,
Till setting Phœbus calls away.
  Autumn benign in ev'ry kind
Repays the Labour of the Hind:
Whether he toil'd upon the Plain,
For waving crops of yellow Grain,
Or yet delighted to entwine
The Tendril with the creeping Vine.
But Nature erst so blithe and gay,
Alas! must sicken, and decay.
E'en now it languishes; for see
The wither'd Leaves on ev'ry Tree!
Already are the Roses fled;
The conscious Lily droops its Head
To see its beauteous Fellows flown,
And by their Fall foretells its own.
Thus all Things, humble or sublime,
Must feel th' all-conqu'ring Hand of Time.
 Th' industrious Ant, by Nature taught,
With more than common Prudence fraught,
Lays up secure an annual Store;
(Its little Date, perhaps, no more:)
 Wou'd Man, (who Lord of all presides,
Alone whom Reason's Influence guides,
Whom Heav'n, in Mercy unconfin'd,
For nobler purposes design'd)
Thus hoard against that common Fate,
We all must prove or soon or late;
How calm might he resign his Breath,
And smiling meet the Arm of Death!
With Joy, his Soul to Heav'n commend,
And fearless face his latter End.