'TIS SUMMER STILL
'TIS Summer still, yet now and then a leafFalls from some stately tree. True type of life!How emblematic of the pangs that griefWrings from our blighted hopes, that one by oneDrop from us in our wrestle with the strifeAnd natural passions of our stately youth.And thus we fall beneath life's summer sun.Each step conducts us through an opening doorInto new halls of being, hand in handWith grave Experience, until we commandThe open, wide-spread autumn fields, and storeThe full ripe grain of Wisdom and of Truth.As on life's tottering precipice we stand,Our sins, like withered leaves, are blown about the land.
'TIS Summer still, yet now and then a leafFalls from some stately tree. True type of life!How emblematic of the pangs that griefWrings from our blighted hopes, that one by oneDrop from us in our wrestle with the strifeAnd natural passions of our stately youth.And thus we fall beneath life's summer sun.Each step conducts us through an opening doorInto new halls of being, hand in handWith grave Experience, until we commandThe open, wide-spread autumn fields, and storeThe full ripe grain of Wisdom and of Truth.As on life's tottering precipice we stand,Our sins, like withered leaves, are blown about the land.
'TIS Summer still, yet now and then a leafFalls from some stately tree. True type of life!How emblematic of the pangs that griefWrings from our blighted hopes, that one by oneDrop from us in our wrestle with the strifeAnd natural passions of our stately youth.And thus we fall beneath life's summer sun.Each step conducts us through an opening doorInto new halls of being, hand in handWith grave Experience, until we commandThe open, wide-spread autumn fields, and storeThe full ripe grain of Wisdom and of Truth.As on life's tottering precipice we stand,Our sins, like withered leaves, are blown about the land.
'TIS Summer still, yet now and then a leaf
Falls from some stately tree. True type of life!
How emblematic of the pangs that grief
Wrings from our blighted hopes, that one by one
Drop from us in our wrestle with the strife
And natural passions of our stately youth.
And thus we fall beneath life's summer sun.
Each step conducts us through an opening door
Into new halls of being, hand in hand
With grave Experience, until we command
The open, wide-spread autumn fields, and store
The full ripe grain of Wisdom and of Truth.
As on life's tottering precipice we stand,
Our sins, like withered leaves, are blown about the land.