"Come unto me when hopes have flown
Like leaves wind-swept and sere,
When every joy thou may'st bemoan;
Dear child, thou need'st not fear.
"Come unto me. I'll give thee rest,
Will wipe away each tear;
Come lean thy head upon my breast;
Dear child, thou need'st not fear."
NOVEMBER
But let all those that put their trust in thee rejoice.—Psalm 5:11.
November is so drear and chill
Whilst making leafless branch and tree,
Whilst sweeping over vale and hill
With all her doleful minstrelsy.
November wails the summer's death
In such a melancholy voice,
She has a withering, blighting breath;
She does not bid the heart rejoice.
Yet why repine, thou stricken one?
Grief is the common fate of all.
This the refrain beneath the sun:
Mortals must die, and leaves must fall.
They'll live again, the leaves and flowers,
When spring returns to bless the earth;
They'll waken 'neath her sunny hours
Through nature's touch to beauteous birth.
Hope in decay and do not moan
That God has taken one we love:
Why should our hearts be turned to stone
When he is safe in heaven above?
Redeemed through Christ, who was his trust,
With him in realms of joy on high;
For though down here "'tis dust to dust,"
The Christian lives beyond the sky.
Then in the autumn's woe rejoice,—
Rejoice in calm, rejoice in storm;
In either hear God's tender voice,
For both his holy will perform.