The leaves which fled from the cruel North
Are with Zephyr's breath returning,
And from seeds which the Bear saw dropped in earth
Springs the corn for the Dog-star's burning.
Thus all stands fast by Thine old decree,
Nothing wavers in Nature's plan:
In all her changes she bows to Thee:
Yea, all stands fast but Man.
Oh! why is the wheel of Fortune rolled,
While guilt Thy vengeance shuns?