Of the queen of the forest we sing -- Of her robes and her royal array; We hail the first buds of the spring, On the maple tree over the way. Next, the bloom of the summer is seen, Tho' oppressive the heat of the day; And clad in her foliage of green, Is the maple tree over the way. Then, the frosts of the autumn appear, When nature prepares for decay: And robed in her rich golden sear, Is the maple tree over the way. Then comes the drear season at last, With the storms of the chill winter's day; And they spare not, exposed to the blast, The maple tree over the way. A lesson from this may be drawn: The life that is blooming to-day, Very soon will be withered and gone, Like the Maple Leaves over the way. |