  WHAT is thy mission, November, Thou link ’twixt the living and dead? What message would’st have us remember, Writ on thy dried leaves, to be read As lessons to youth and to age, To the simple, the student, the sage? Stern duty, thy scepter of power, The husbandman readily sees; And takes up the tasks of the hour As the limbs bear the buds on the trees; For he sows not, ploughs not, nor reaps; He laughs not, he frowns not, nor weeps. The frosts, without cost, starch the ground; Spread a mirror o’er river and lakes; While nuts scattered thickly around, More treasured than apples and cakes, The children may gather with ease, With the squirrels which hide in the trees. The apples are now in the bins, The pumpkins upon the barn floor, Save those which, bereft of their skins, Hang to dry on the biggest barn door; The banking’s high piled ’gainst the house, To keep it as snug as a mouse. Thou wast wisely ordained for man, For time was much needed, we see, In which for cold winter to plan, And prepare for the storms which must be; So, while few may sing of thy praise, We will welcome and treasure thy days. Not all the best things of this grand old earth, Not all the hours of the year around, Are welcomed here with the songs of mirth, Nor in fields of pleasure are ever found, For cloudy are the days of welcome rain, And sharp the sickle for the golden grain. G. R. A. double line The soul that perpetually overflows with kindness and sympathy will always be cheerful. woman walking in autumn woods NOVEMBER. double line
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