Warm was the sun of the summer, Fragraut the breath of the flowers, Shall sweet thinga be but tho foreruuner Of woes in this world of ours ? O cannot and may not summer, Tlie warmth, of our pleasures last, Are all thinga and all Like red things to fall. In glory - and then, oh ! tho blast ? O mantle and fall of white snow ! O flake and icicle pure ! Well, well, doth the eye, seeing, know ■ Your speech as you lodge at the door ; Our hearts read the story of woe. And our brains sound the knowledge we cast - Are all things and all Like red leaves to fall, In glory - aud then, oh ! the blast ? The answer wo read in tho stars - God's jewels and man's keen delight - O'er earth's grand comniotions and wars Still shines His ineffable light. We float in our hopes on frail spars, 'Till, reaching the haven at last, Know all things and all Like red leaves raust fall But ncveruiore, on earth, the blast !