The wind blew keenly from the Western sea,
And drove the dead leaves slanting from the tree-- Vanity of vanities, the Preacher saith--Heaping them up before her Father's
When I saw her whom I shall see no more-- We cannot bribe thee,
Death.
She went abroad the falling leaves among,
She saw the merry season fade, and sung-- Vanity of vanities the Preacher saith--Freely she wandered in the leafless wood,
And said that all was fresh, and fair, and good-- She knew thee not,
O Death.
She bound her shining hair across her brow,
She went into the garden fading now; Vanity of vanities the Preacher saith--And if one sighed to think that it was sere,
She smiled to think that it would bloom next year! She feared thee not,
O Death.
Blooming she came back to the cheerful
With all the fairer flowers yet in bloom-- Vanity of vanities the Preacher saith--A fragrant knot for each of us she tied,
And placed the fairest at her Father's side-- She cannot charm thee,
Death.
Her pleasant smile spread sunshine upon all;
We heard her sweet clear laughter in the Hall-- Vanity of vanities the Preacher saith--We heard her sometimes after evening prayer,
As she went singing softly up the stair-- No voice can charm thee,
Death.
Where is the pleasant smile, the laughter kind,
That made sweet music of the winter wind? Vanity of vanities the Preacher saith--Idly they gaze upon her empty place,
Her kiss hath faded from her Father's face-- She is with thee,
O Death.
