The last few leaves now withered brown cling to the boughs upon the downs
And blush the light refracted
And sunken in December’s sky as buttermilk the sun now shy
Can hardly be detected

The day is almost done for soon the cloak of night reveals the moon
And evening star ascending
Then deep the shadows round about the village as the lights go out
So life may have its ending

Though everything will have its day the tide of life must ebb away
As sure as ice is water
So tired the feeble old and weak, a painless end the end to seek
No grieving son nor daughter

And as cold clay at last surrounds beneath the hard of winter’s ground
Rest in eternal slumber
At last the sun will warm the sod where buttercups and daisies nod
And days are long to number