UPON the fleeting wheels of time,

Mild Autumn's borne away,

And smiling nature now is wrapped

In Winter's cold array.

No more the little birds we see,

Now fluttering on the breeze,

No more their coral notes we hear,

Among the leafless trees.

The flowers that in Autumn spread

Their sweetness on each breeze,

Now moldering lie upon the earth,

Beneath the rustling trees.

And loved ones, too, have faded since

From off the stage of earth,

In silence now they sweetly sleep

Beneath the wintry surf.

And through the trees above their graves,

The wind doth moan and sigh,

Reminding us our home's not here,

That soon we, too, must die.

Already may the wintry winds,

Now passing swiftly by,

Have tolled the death-knell of a friend,

Who's dear to you and I.

And those whose eyes are closed in death,

We now for them may weep,

Unconscious that ere winter's sped,

We, too, with them may sleep.

Oh! Then, frail man, why will ye sleep

Each season thus away?

This life at best can only fit

Us for the Judgment day.