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by Nannie R. Glass

November is so drear and chill
Whilst making leafless branch and tree,
Whilst sweeping over vale and hill
With all her doleful minstrelsy.
November wails the summer's death
In such a melancholy voice,
She has a withering, blighting breath;
She does not bid the heart rejoice.

Yet why repine, thou stricken one?
Grief is the common fate of all.
This the refrain beneath the sun:
Mortals must die, and leaves must fall.
They'll live again, the leaves and flowers,
When spring returns to bless the earth;
They'll waken 'neath her sunny hours
Through nature's touch to beauteous birth.

Hope in decay and do not moan
That God has taken one we love;
Why should our hearts be turned to stone
When he is safe in heaven above?
Redeemed through Christ, who was his trust,
With him in realms of joy on high;
For though down here "'tis dust to dust,"
The Christian lives beyond the sky.

Then in the autumn's woe rejoice,—
Rejoice in calm, rejoice in storm;
In either hear God's tender voice,
For both his holy will perform.

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