On The Approach Of Winter

HOW soon the verdant months are past!
The branches bend with snow,
And keenly beats the chilling blast
On bleak November's brow.
Thus fleeting are our youthful hours,
Those years how swift they fly,
When Hope and Fancy strew with flow'rs
The roughest paths we try.
Big rolls the cloud, the sun's faint rays
With sidelong glance appear,
Thick mists descend, the shorten'd days
A gloomy aspect wear.
The storm with double fury falls
On penury and woe,
Where scatter'd thatch and clayey walls
But ill resists the foe.
The worn-out garb, the half-spent fire,
The children's asking eyes,
Who their full meal of bread require,
Which, ah! stern Want denies.
Fear not, ye offspring of distress,
Tho' plenteous harvest fails,
Soft Charity shall bring redress
Where Poverty assails.
Taught by the Gospel's sacred lore,
With sympathetic heart,
The affluent shall your huts explore,
And timely aid impart.
Now thick descend the broad white flakes,
The drifted mountains rise;
Woe to the wanderer night o'ertakes,
He struggling sinks and dies.
The north wind whirls with hollow sound,
The stars keen lustre shed;
Ice locks the stream, the sparkling ground
Crackles beneath the tread.
The mind with grateful feelings warm,
Which social bliss conveys,
Can e'en in Winter find a charm,
Nor want a theme to praise.
Spring shall revive each lost delight,
Again the new-born year,
Shall burst with beauty on the sight,
And fruits and flow'rets bear.
The Spring of life returns no more,
But if to Virtue giv'n,
Tho' earth's best joys, alas! are o'er,
Our age foretastes of Heav'n.
By Death set free, the soul shall rise,
Upborne on Seraph's wing,
To genial realms beyond the skies,
Where blooms eternal Spring.