How fair the early bloom of Spring,
When verdure decks the grove,
When ev'ry voice is tun'd to sing,
And ev'ry heart to love!

Alternate, Summer—Autumn—reign,
But, ah! how quickly past;
And Winter with its gloomy train
Concludes the year at last.

Thus in the changing seasons plan
The mortal fates appear;
An emblem of the life of man
Is found in ev'ry year.

In turn again the Winter yields,
Spring bids each waste repair,
Restores new verdure to the fields,
New fragrance to the air:

Nor rashly deem, that man is lost,
Though low in death he ly;
Who with a soul inform'd his dust
Forbade that soul to die:

The Spring descending from on high
Again revives the tomb,
And man transplanted to the sky,
Eternally shall bloom.