THE WITHERED LEAF.
1 Oh! mark the withered leaves that fall
In silence to the ground;
Upon the human heart they call,
And preach without a sound.
2 They say, So passes man's brief year!
To-day, his green leaves wave;
To-morrow, changed by time, and sere,
He drops into the grave.
3 Let Wisdom be our sole concern,
Since life's green days are brief!
And faith and heavenly hope shall learn
A lesson from the LEAF.
THE GIPSY'S TENT.
1 When now cold winter's snows are fled,
And birds sing blithe again,
Look where the gipsy's tent is spread,
In the green village lane.
2 Oft by the old park pales, beneath
The branches of the oak,
The watchdog barks, when, in slow wreath,
Curls o'er the woods the smoke.
3 No home receives the wandering race;
The panniered ass is nigh,
Which patient bears from place to place
Their infant progeny.