The Democratic Advocate

Select Poetry.

The Harvest is Past The Summer is Ended
Warrenton, Va., Enterprise.

The harvest is past-the summer is gone,
Bright season, too happy to last!
And off in the distance we hear a low sigh,
'Tis Autumn's sad voice bidding Summer good bye
As she hurries away to the Past!

The Harvest is past-the reapers are done-
The Grain has been garnered away:
Oh! gay sunny Summer, her seasons how brief.
She droops as the flower, and fades as the leaf
And dies like a beautiful day.

True emblem, indeed, of the Summer of life,
Which seems like a glorified day.
Till the rude pelting storm and the Autumn blast,
Tell us the happy, glad Summer is past
Forever and ever away!

Life's Summer must end, and the hoar-frost must fall,
Besprinkling each temple with grey;
The daylight must fade, and the evening draw near.
And we'll listen for the voice that each mortal must hear,
The voice that will call us away!

The good shall be call'd to the Better-Land,
Where the streets with gold are paved-
But oh! may we never hear the moan
Of the wretched who cry when the Summer is gone,
'Tis ended and we are not saved!'

When the Winter of Death throws a shadow around
And we lie down to sleep at even;
May we open our eyes on the spirit-shore,
Where the lov'd and the lost have gone before,
To a Summer of rest in Heaven!