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The Mouldering Vine

8, 7



Hail! ye sighing sons of sorrow,

Learn from me your certain doom;

Learn from me your fate tomorrow,

Dead--perhaps laid in your tomb!

See all nature fading, dying!

Silent all things seem to pine;

Life from vegetation flying,

Brings to mind "the mouldering vine."


See! in yonder forest standing,

Lofty cedars, how they nod!

Scenes of nature how surprising,

Read in nature nature's God.

Whilst the annual frosts are cropping,

Leaves and tendrils from the trees,

So our friends are early drooping,

We are like to one of these.


Hollow winds about me roaring,

Noisy waters round me rise;

Whilst I sit my fate deploring,

Tears fast streaming from my eyes

What to me is autumns's treasure

Since I know no earthly joy,

Long I've lost all youthful pleasure,

Time must youth and health destroy.

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