The Autumn Is Old, The Sere Leaves Are Flying; - He Hath Gather'D Up Gold, And Now He Is Dying; - Old Age, Begin Sighing! The Vintage Is Ripe, The Harvest Is Heaping; - But Some That Have Sow'D Have No Riches For Reaping; - Poor Wretch, Fall A-Weeping! The Year'S In The Wane, There Is Nothing Adorning, The Night Has No Eve, And The Day Has No Morning; - Cold Winter Gives Warning. The Rivers Run Chill, The Red Sun Is Sinking, And I Am Grown Old, And Life Is Fast Shrinking; Here'S Enow For Sad Thinking!