OCTOBER, grave October,
Thy warning voice I hear;
And it wakens in my spirit
A sad and solemn fear;
Thy breath is like the fragrance
That lingers, round a tomb,
From flowers by sorrow planted,
In solitude to bloom.
Enrobed in sombre garments,
Thy well-known form draws nigh;
And transient is the luster
That lights thy pensive eye:
No glad evangel bringest thou,
Our lonely hearts to cheer,
But words of mournful parting,
From the forest growing sere.
The leaves are falling thickly,
The perfumed flowers are gone;
Like an Eolian harp, the wind
Has sadness in its tone;
And reverently we listen,
For wise monitions lie
In the voices that surround us,
When Flora’s children die.
All earthly things that gladden,
The dearest and the best,
Forbid a firm dependence,
A long unbroken rest;
Yet our affections closely
Round human props entwine;
Our choicest gems we lavish
Upon an idol-shrine.
And who hath not been wounded?—
The trusted one hath failed,—
The idol hath been shattered,
Its guarded throne assailed.
And we, in desolation,
Have mourned our misplaced trust,
And scorned the drossy image
Now prostrate in the dust.
And is there one amongst us
Whose tears were never shed
In unavailing anguish,
Upon the narrow bed,
Where those we loved and leaned on
In dreamless sleep repose,
Unconscious of the vacuum
Our aching bosom knows?
But is there no kind shelter,
When wintry winds are high?
No fountain ever flowing,
Though creature-springs are dry?
No heart of love unchanging,
No sympathizing breast,
On which the weary soul may lean,
And safely, sweetly, rest?
Oh yes ! above the changes
Which earth-born pleasures wear,
The eye, by faith illumined,
Descries a region fair;
And One, enthroned in glory,
Who did not scorn to be
A “Brother” in our likeness made,
“Born for adversity.”
He has a true and tender heart
That feels our keen distress;
He has a strong and ready hand
That will our wrongs redress;
He has a faithful memory
That never can forget
The toiling burden-bearers
On whom His love is set.
And now, thou grave October,
I offer thanks to thee;
For thy solemn voice hath kindled
A heavenly hope in me;
Thy hand may leave the impress
Of swift and sure decay;
And joys as fleet as human breath,
As soon may pass away.
My heart, by mercy guided,
Hath sought that better Home,
That Home of love and concord,
Where change can never come;
And He who soothes my sorrows
Will share with me His throne,
Before His Father, not ashamed
His ransomed child to own.
E. D.