The sweetest blossoms die. And so it was that, going day by day Unto the church to praise and pray, And crossing the green churchyard thoughtfully, I saw how on the graves the flowers Shed their fresh leaves in showers, And how their perfume rose up to the sky Before it pa**ed away. The youngest blossoms die. They die and fall and nourish the rich earth From which they lately had their birth; Sweet life, but sweeter d**h that pa**eth by And is as though it had not been:-- All colors turn to green; The bright hues vanish and the odors fly, The gra** hath lasting worth. And youth and beauty die. So be it, O my God, Thou God of truth: Better than beauty and than youth Are Saints and Angels, a glad company; And Thou, O Lord, our Rest and Ease, Art better far than these. Why should we shrink from our full harvest? why Prefer to glean with Ruth?