Still higher in the hazy sky
The sun climbed on and on,
And autumn winds came rushing by,
The summer's bloom was gone;
Now sat a mother at the loom,
The shuttle flew along,
With whirr that filled the little room
Together with her song;—
"O! shuttle! faster, faster fly,
For know ye not the sun
Is climbing high across the sky,
And yet my work's not done?"
The sun shot gleams of amber light
Along the barren ground,
And shadows of the coming night
Fell softly all around.
And in the little cottage room
From early dawn till night,
A woman sat before the loom
With hair of snowy white.
The hands were palsied now that threw
The shuttle to and fro,
While as the fabric longer grew
She sang both sweet and low;—
"Half hidden in the rosy west
I see the golden sun,
And I shall soon begin my rest,
My task is almost done!"
The spring again brought joy and bloom,
And kissed each vale and hill;
But in the little cottage room
The oaken beam was still.
The swaying boughs with rays of gold
Wove nets of yellow sun,
And cast them where a headstone told—
The weaver's task was done.