The Disciple Author:George MacDonald Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: SONGS OF THE AUTUMN DAYS. T1 TE bore him through the golden land, One early harvest morn. The corn stood ripe on either hand— He knew all about the corn. ... more » How shall the harvest gathered be Without him standing by ? Without him walking on the lea, The sky is scarce a sky. The year's glad work is almost done; The land is rich in fruit; Yellow it floats in air and sun— Earth holds it by the root. Why should earth hold it for a day, When harvest-time is come ? Death is triumphant o'er decay, And leads the perfect home. Yet shines the sun as bright and warm ; All comfort is not lost; Both corn and hope, of heart and farm, Lie hid from coming frost. The woods are mournful, richly sad; Their leaves are red and gold: Are thoughts in solemn splendour clad Signs too that men grow old ? Strange odours haunt the doubtful brain From fields and days gone by; And sad-eyed memories again Are born, are loved, and die. The morning clear, the evening cool Foretell no wintery wars; The day of dying leaves is full; The night is full of stars. 'Tis late before the sun will rise; All early he will go; A vaporous frost hangs from the skies, And wets the ground below. Red fruit has followed golden corn; The leaves are few and sere; My thoughts are old as soon as born, And gray with coming fear. The winds are still; no softest breath Floats through the branches bare; A silence as of coming death Is growing in the air. But what must fade, can bear to fade, Can stand beneath the ill: Creep on, old Winter, deathly shade ! We sorrow, and are still. There is no longer any heaven To glorify our clouds; The rising vapours downward driven, Come home for palls and shrouds. The sun himself is ill bested ...« less