Autumn: Thursday Morning Poem by John Bowring

The orient is lighted with crimson glow,
The night and its dreams are fled,
And the glorious roll of nature now
Is in all its brightness spread.
The autumn has ting'd the trees with gold,
And crimson'd the shrubs of the hills;
And the full seed sleeps in earth's bosom cold,
And hope all the universe fills.


Hope gladdens the world with its living ray,
And smiles serenely on all;
It scatters a thousand charms in its way
Over this earthly ball:
It has streams of peace and joy and love,
To water this valley of death;
And brings the flowers of heaven from above
For virtue's undying wreath.


O say hast thou watch'd the maternal care,
Smiling on infancy?
O say, hast thou seen the joy-born tear,
Bright in a mother's eye?
Hast thou marked the babe on her bosom mild,
Slumbering in innocence yet?-
O she may forget that lovely child;
But God can never forget.


That God in His equal scales hath weighed
Our share of evil and good;
He hath blended our portions of light and shade
In a wise vicissitude.
He has temper'd our sunshine with sober gloom,
Lest its glare should dazzle our sense;
And has given a warning voice to the tomb,
To summon our thoughts from hence.


To Thee will I look, in Thee confide,
For my times are in Thy right hand;
And O! to my spirit be sanctified
Whatever Thy wisdom has plann'd.
My heart shall never 'gainst Thee rebel,
My soul no murmurer be;
For all is conducted wisely, well,
Since all is conducted by Thee.


O ne'er be that Father forgotten by me,
Who never His children forgot:
The fountain of wisdom and virtue is He,
To each He apportions his lot.
He is light and knowledge and purity;
We, darkness and doubt alone:
The fragile children of dust are we,
And He-the Eternal One!


His years decay not-He sits sublime
On eternity's glowing car;
His ages are measured not by time,
And the days that departed are
Add nothing to His existence;-nought
Shall be added by coming years:
But here man's utmost stretch of thought
Helpless and vain appears.


Our days like the leaves of autumn fall;
And yet a few mornings more,
And the bell shall toll for our funeral,
And the dream of life be o'er.
The sun may in clouds and storm descend,
And the shades of night appear;
My Father is there, my heavenly Friend;
O what should my spirit fear?