O Rosebud garland of girls!
Who ask for a song from me,
To what sweet air shall I set my lay?
What shall its key-note be?
The flowers have gone from wood and hill;
The rippling river lies white and still;
And the birds that sang on the maple bough,
Afar in the South are singing now!
O Rosebud garland of girls!
If the whole glad year were May;
If winds sang low in the clustering leaves,
And roses bloomed alway;
If youth were all that there is of life;
If the years brought nothing of care or strife,
Nor ever a cloud to the ether blue,
It were easy to sing a song for you!
Yet, O my garland of girls!
Is there nothing better than May?
The golden glow of the harvest time!
The rest of the Autumn day!
This thought I give to you all to keep:
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!