112th.
1
The leaves of autumn pass away;
The summer’s brightest flowers decay;
The fairest things beneath the sky
But bloom awhile, then fade and die:
For all of beauty, all of bloom
On earth, is passing to the tomb.
2
But there is something that will live,
When light no more the sun shall give;
When moons no more shall set nor rise,
And stars shall quit the silent skies;
And vanished in eternity.
Time and this earth shall cease to be.
3
It is the soul, the better part,
That which is thinking in my heart;
’Tis that which never can decay,
Though all things else shall pass away,
My body in the dust shall lie,
My soul can never, never die.
