Classic Poem

LEAVES of the autumn-time,
Crimson and golden, opalesque and brown,
To this new grave-heap slowly rustling down,
Come with your low, low chime,
And sing of her who, spring and summer past,
In her calm autumn sought that shore at last,
Where there is no more rime.

Flowers of the autumn days,
Bright lingering roses, asters white as snow,
And purple violets on the winds that go
Sighing their sad, sad lays,
Tell, with your sweet breath, how her spirit fair
Through life's declining, kept its fragrance rare
Fresher amidst decays.

Birds of the autumn eves
Warbling your last song ere ye plume your wing
For milder climates, stay awhile and sing
Where the lone willow grieves;
Tell of a nest, secure from storm and blast,
Where her white wing, the shadowy valley past,
Rests under heavenly eaves.

Stars of the autumn night,
Crowned warders on the ramparts of the skies,
With your bright lances, holy mysteries
Upon her gravestone write:
Tell of the new name given to the free
In that fair land beyond the silent sea,
Where Christ is Lord and Light.

God of the wind and rain,
Seed-time and harvest, summer-time and sleet,
Stricken and woful, at Thy kingly feet
We bow amidst our pain.
Help us to find her, where no falling leaf,
No parting bird, doth tell of death and grief,
Where Thou alone dost reign!