html.skin-theme-clientpref-night @media(prefers-color-scheme:dark){html.skin-theme-clientpref-os }NCE more, mine own beloved, the ray
Of Autumn gilds the mellow earth,
And brings to us again the day,
The blessed day, that gave Thee birth.
And though in every leaf I see
The warning hue of Nature's doom,
Yet seems this hour more bright to me,
Than Springtime glow or Summer bloom.
No marvel: Time's swift fleeting wing,
That bears away each circling year,
But seems for us fresh love to bring,—
New cause to make thee doubly dear.
And every pleasure, every pain,
That round our path of life may twine,
But closer binds affection's chain,
And makes thy joys, thy sorrows, mine.
Oh! say, then, can I see the day
That gave Thee birth, return unmoved,
Nor thus for every blessing pray,
To crown the head of one so loved?
And if a sigh, a tender tear,
Could fall upon this festal day,
It is to think, another year
Of thy dear life has passed away.
Thou art in manhood's glory now;
I will not think that time can e'er
Trace deepening lines on that fair brow,
Or tinge with snow that auburn hair:
And if across thy morning sky,
Some chastening shadows seemed to lower,
Oh, cloudless may thy noontide be,
And calmly bright thine evening hour!
God bless thee, dearest! Words can say,
And heart desire, with anxious love,
No more than those few accents pray,
Of peace below and joy above.
Oh! may His blessing on thee rest,
In every scene, in every hour;—
The heart of her who loves thee best,
Can ask for thee, can wish no more.
E.