Classic Poem

How fast the leaves, all brown and sere,
Desert the old and hoary year;
And wither'd fall, to deck no more
The boughs their verdure covered o'er:
At length the snow, in shroud of white,
Hides them for ever from the sight.

Thus, from our Tree of Life, each year,
The withered leaves shall disappear;
And, on the wings of winter's blast,
Haste from the Present to the Past:
At length the shroud, in snowy white,
Hides us for ever from the sight.

But far beyond this vale of tears
Another Tree of Life appears;
Its verdure, in those realms of day,
Shall never fall, nor fade away:
And God shall clothe in robes of snow,
The blessed souls that thither go.