24
POEMS.
Its solitude forgot, while bright things played,
Birds in its branches, children in its shade.
Birds in its branches, children in its shade.
The tree has died, and she has passed away,
Both served their generation and their day;
And now, when modest worth and talent too we see,
Our thoughts, good maiden Fanny, ever turn to thee.
Both served their generation and their day;
And now, when modest worth and talent too we see,
Our thoughts, good maiden Fanny, ever turn to thee.
Let each the mission high fulfil—
Go forth and labor, weary never—
The field's the world, good deeds the seed,
And harvest time shall be forever!
Go forth and labor, weary never—
The field's the world, good deeds the seed,
And harvest time shall be forever!
