Full Lyrics
Oh! waning year, bind up thy sheaves
Of happy hours that swiftly fly!
Now yellow are the falling leaves,
Now dull and gray the pallid sky.
The summer’s come– the summer’s gone,–
Her song is hushed forever here;
A few sad flowers are left alone
To tell how sweet she was, how dear.
Bind thou the gather’d sheaves, Oh Love!
Lest winter fold them in her shroud:
’Tis not the cooing of the dove,
But weary winds that pipe so loud.
Yet mourn thou not with vain regret,
The faded flower, the silent strain,
The joy of summer has not set,
For gathered is our golden grain.
