And the dews of eve are chill;The flood is in the valley,
And the mist upon the hill.November's blast comes sweeping
Through the forest lone and sere -And the waning year goes creeping,
To her cold and wintry bier.
In a path bestrewn with flowers;And joyous summer follows,
With the laughing, rosy hours;And warm again will beam the sun,
And gently breathe the wind -But when comes spring or summer
To the winter of the mind?
And comes on the ague-chill -And the spirit's spring is broken,
That mock'd each petty ill;And the world's cold ways are round us -
And Hope no longer cheers -And fond, bright dreams lie buried
In the ashes of past years.
And breast the downward tide; -And quell each weak and foolish plaint,
And patiently abideOur earthly doom; and firmly keep
The spirit free from stain -And calmly walk in duty's path -
We will not walk in vain:
Will yet come, as of yore; -And mirth leap up from sadness,
Though joy returns no more!And temperate autumn's soothing thoughts
Will gently round us wind -But ne'er come spring or summer
To the winter of the mind.