When from the dewsprent rose the blustering wind
Steals leaf by leaf away,
Sighs the sad flower to leave no trace behind,
No record of its day?
When the fair colours in the rainbow laid,
Dissolve in heaven's own hue,
Weep they to find their glories blend and fade
Into the pristine blue?
When stars on stars before the rising sun
Sink down and disappear,
Mourns any that its brief career is run,
And leaves no vestige here?
Why then should man alone indulge in grief,
Or ever wish to give
A frail memorial of his sojourn brief
To those who later live?
What the necessity of earthly fame,
Or monument, or mound,
To one who in the Book of Life, his name
Shall see, if faithful found?