Now they
appear in their torn and faded robes to hover over a few pale
flowers as if "loath to leave the scenes of their summer's
revelings."
Only the more hardy remain to enjoy the grandeur of the winter
ocean like the chickadees and cardinal grosbeaks that enliven
our winter woods. The many flowered asters remain regal and
cheery though a thousands winds may blow. Those who see the real
beauty and indescribable grandeur of the ocean here, if they
cannot remain, will show evidences in their beneficent lives
that they have had a wonderful summer by the sea. Here amid the
most beautiful manifestations of Nature's power and grandeur
they have gained broader hopes, higher aspirations and a purer
life. They leave the frivolous things of life on its remotest
shores, where a few returning tides bury them in the sands of
forgetfulness or the receding waves wash them like clams far out
to sea.
Look at the fate of summer flowers,
Which blow at daybreak, droop ere evensong
And, grieved for their brief date, confess that ours
Measured by what we are and ought to be,
Measured by all that, trembling we foresee,
Is not so long!
The deepest grove whose foliage hid
The happiest lovers' Arcady might boast,
Could not the entrance of this thought forbid:
O be thou wise as they, soul-gifted maid!
Nor rate too high what must so quickly fade,
So soon be lost!
Then shall love teach some virtuous youth
To draw out of the object of his eyes
The whilst they gaze on thee in simple truth
Hues more exalted a refined form,
That dreads not age, nor suffers from the worm,
And never dies! --Wordsworth.
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