September Thirtieth

It is true, my heart is heavy, for the summer days are flying,
The frost has touched the roses and they wither on the stem;
Pinks, pansies, and forget-me-nots, they all are dead or dying,
I hear the cruel north-wind go sweeping over them.

And my precious morning-glories, in their purple splendor growing,
Looking through their leafy lattice, all the world was fresh and fair
And I loved to stand beside them when the eastern sky was glowing,
For they cheered me like an anthem, and they calmed me like a prayer.

But to-day I look upon them and behold their glory waning,
The cold rains beat upon them, they are shaken to and fro;
They seem to me like human souls in awful strait complaining,
As low they cry " Good-bye, good-bye, into the dust we go. "

Good-bye, good-bye, I answer them, my summer too is fleeting.
I miss the glow and glamour that the spring-time only knows,
Across my pathway I can see the autumn shadows creeping,
And though a thousand years to come may bud and blossom the rose,

And all the flowers may come and go, a gay procession bringing
The freshness of the younger years, the grasses wet with dew,
The pink blooms on the apple trees with birds among them singing,
And fleecy clouds, like angel wings, soft floating through the blue;

Yet I may be so far away beyond the earth's dim border;
So thick a veil may hang between these mortal days and me,
How do I know if I shall mark the seasons in their order,
Or gladden when the winds blow warm across the land and sea?

And though within the wondrous world to which my soul is going,
Are lips forever smiling sweet and hearts forever young,
And in the gracious atmosphere fair blossoms always blowing,
And " Glory, glory, glory " is the song forever sung;

Yet I cannot help but sorrow when the summer days are going,
I seek the sunny places, and I love them more and more,
And dear and dearer still to me these simple things are growing —
The vines that shade the windows and the flowers beside the door.

It is true, my heart is heavy, for the summer days are flying,
The frost has touched the roses and they wither on the stem;
Pinks, pansies, and forget-me-nots, they all are dead or dying,
I hear the cruel north-wind go sweeping over them.

And my precious morning-glories, in their purple splendor growing,
Looking through their leafy lattice, all the world was fresh and fair
And I loved to stand beside them when the eastern sky was glowing,
For they cheered me like an anthem, and they calmed me like a prayer.

But to-day I look upon them and behold their glory waning,
The cold rains beat upon them, they are shaken to and fro;
They seem to me like human souls in awful strait complaining,
As low they cry " Good-bye, good-bye, into the dust we go. "

Good-bye, good-bye, I answer them, my summer too is fleeting.
I miss the glow and glamour that the spring-time only knows,
Across my pathway I can see the autumn shadows creeping,
And though a thousand years to come may bud and blossom the rose,

And all the flowers may come and go, a gay procession bringing
The freshness of the younger years, the grasses wet with dew,
The pink blooms on the apple trees with birds among them singing,
And fleecy clouds, like angel wings, soft floating through the blue;

Yet I may be so far away beyond the earth's dim border;
So thick a veil may hang between these mortal days and me,
How do I know if I shall mark the seasons in their order,
Or gladden when the winds blow warm across the land and sea?

And though within the wondrous world to which my soul is going,
Are lips forever smiling sweet and hearts forever young,
And in the gracious atmosphere fair blossoms always blowing,
And " Glory, glory, glory " is the song forever sung;

Yet I cannot help but sorrow when the summer days are going,
I seek the sunny places, and I love them more and more,
And dear and dearer still to me these simple things are growing —
The vines that shade the windows and the flowers beside the door.
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