The Summer Is Ended

The Summer Is Ended

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Praise to the God of harvest! praise!

Who sent the blessed sunshine days,
The early and the latter rain,
The flower, the fruit, the waving grain.

The vintage songs have echoed round,
The golden sheaves have all been bound,
Which nurtured were by sun and shower,
And garnered is the precious store.

The glory of the summer's gone:
Each gorgeous sunset hue that shone,
Has paled beneath a colder sky,
O'er which the storm's dark shadows fly.

The rose, the queenly rose, is dead,
And all her sister flowers have fled;
Their dream-like sweetness faded fast
When Autumn's blight was o'er them cast.

The breath of their own southern wind
With loving clasp each tendril twined,
And brightened every star-eyed gem
That gleamed in Summer's diadem.

And if at noon their heads were bent,
Eve's breezy balm fresh beauty lent;
And when looked out the eye of day,
Dew-diamonds flashed from every spray.

And where the dark boughs' woven shade
Meet arch for forest minster made,
Were quirings heard, and rush of wings,
And gushings soft of silvery springs.

And solemn whispering tones were heard,
Leaf answering leaf, by breezes stirred,
Rill calling rill, the very air
Seemed laden with the breath of prayer.

Now all are fled - the leaves are sere,
Sullen and sad the sounds we hear,
Like to a broken spirit's moan,
The glory of the Summer's gone!

And human love has watched its flower,
The holiest in affection's bower,
And fondly thought the flower to keep -
Alas! alas! that love should weep -

O'er rifled blossom early torn
From out the heart where it was worn,
A treasured idol, watched with pride -
Alas! alas! that it has died!

And are we saved? - in every flower
That faded in its sunlit bower,
In every leaf that quivering fell,
There should have been a mighty spell -

To warn our hearts, that we must die,
And cold in earth's dark bosom lie -
Our hold on life as frail and brief
As that of faded falling leaf.

And are we saved? a voice was near,
It fell at midnight on the ear,
It rung in every Sabbath bell,
It spoke in every anthem's swell -

From every Chrisom child 'twas heard,
Vowed to the service of his Lord,
From every altar's feast it rose,
It came at daylight's solemn close -

When lengthened shadows fall around,
And darkness steals with awe profound,
And when went by the sable bier -
And when fast fell the mourner's tear.

"And are we saved?" said the warning voice,
"When called away will our hearts rejoice?"
Oh, pause we and think - we are hastening on -
The harvest is past - the Summer is gone!

J.C.

New Series 1:37, p. 4

1840.11.14

From the Churchman