Around in silent grandeur stood The stately children of the wood; Maple and elm and towering pine Mantled in folds of dark woodbine.

Who soweth good seed shall surely reap; The year grows rich as it groweth old, And life's latest sands are its sands of gold!

And the stately lilies stand Fair in the silvery light, Like saintly vestals, pale in prayer; Their pure breath sanctifies the air, As its fragrance fills the night.

Stars will blossom in the darkness, Violets bloom beneath the snow.

Who soweth good seed shall surely reap; The year grows rich as it groweth old, And life's latest sands are its sands of gold!

The buttercups, bright-eyed and bold, Held up their chalices of gold To catch the sunshine and the dew.