Hurry, scurry, how they scatter,
All so beautiful and gay:
No poet's tongue could ever flatter
The beauty of the woods today.
The colors bright all seem to blend
In harmony serene.
No artist's pen could ever trace
So beautiful a scene.
The poplar wears the lighter shade,
The oak the somber hue,
The elm and cherry seem to vie
Each the other to out do.
The maples, each one seems to have
A choice as to her dress,
And gazing at them all we see
Rare beauty there expressed.
And e'en the underbrush which seemed
A nuisance in the past,
Wear colors brown and red and green,
With beauty now is classed.
Those lovely leaves they bring to' mind,
The aged of today,
Whose days on earth are almost done,
Soon passing to decay.
But as each leaf a shadow cast,
When falling to the ground,
So each of them an influence leaves,
They cast their shadows round.
The autumn of the year seems blest
With beauty unadorned.
We can but stop and think awhile,
what lesson should be learned.
Oh! if old age is e'er my lot
May I garner in the sheaves
Of all that is the best in life,
And die as do the leaves.