If it shall fail—and stranger things have been,
And with the leaves around, whirl through the glen,
And up the forest’s melancholy path,
Lifeless and useless, as its withered band.
’Tis an old truth, by bard of sweetness told,
“Leaves have their time to fall, and stars to set.”
But if perchance some generous soul shall take
The half-fledged warbler to a pleasant home,
Where bright-eyed children gather in their joy—
Type of the host that throng the homes of Heaven—