The Little Villager's Verse Book — Mower

Hark! to the Mower's whistling blade,
How steadily he mows,
The grass is heap'd, the daisies fade,
Al! scatter'd as he goes.

So Time, as with a stern delight.
Mid human havoc tow'rs,
And sweeps, resistless in his might,
Kingdoms, as grass and flow'rs.

The flow'rs of Life may bloom or fade,
But He in whom I trust,
Though cold, and in my grave-clothes laid,
Can raise me from the dust.