The Last Leaf
Thou last pale relic from yon widowed tree,
Hovering awhile in air as if to leave
Thy native sprig reluctant, how I grieve
And heave the sigh of kindred sympathy
That thou art fallen!--for I too whilom played
Upon the topmost bough of youth's gay spring;
Have sported blithe on summer's golden wing;
And now I see my fleeting autumn fade.
Yet, 'sear and yellow leaf,' though thou and I
Thus far resemble, and this frame like thee
In the cold silent ground be doomed to lie,
Thou never more will climb thy parent tree;
But I, through faith in my Redeemer, trust
That I shall rise again, even from the dust.
Thou last pale relic from yon widowed tree,
Hovering awhile in air as if to leave
Thy native sprig reluctant, how I grieve
And heave the sigh of kindred sympathy
That thou art fallen!--for I too whilom played
Upon the topmost bough of youth's gay spring;
Have sported blithe on summer's golden wing;
And now I see my fleeting autumn fade.
Yet, 'sear and yellow leaf,' though thou and I
Thus far resemble, and this frame like thee
In the cold silent ground be doomed to lie,
Thou never more will climb thy parent tree;
But I, through faith in my Redeemer, trust
That I shall rise again, even from the dust.