Thomas Haynes Bayly (13 October 1797 – 22 April 1839) was an English poet, songwriter, dramatist and writer. (wikipedia)
Surely 't is better, when summer is over To die when all fair things are fading away.
The rose that all are praising Is not the rose for me.
I'd be a butterfly; living a rover, Dying when fair things are fading away.
Oh, I have roamed o'er many lands, And many friends I've met; Not one fair scene or kindly smile Can this fond heart forget.
Fear not, but trust in Providence, Wherever thou may'st be.
Oh, pilot! 'tis a fearful night, There's danger on the deep.
Friends depart, and memory takes them To her caverns, pure and deep.
Oh! where do fairies hide their heads, When snow lies on the hills, When frost has spoiled their mossy beds, And crystallized their rills?
Why don't the men propose, Mamma? Why don't the men propose?
Where's the hope that can abate The grief of hearts thus desolate That can Youth's keenest pangs assuage, And mitigate the gloom of Age? Religion bids the tempest cease, And, leads her to a port of peace; And on, the lonely pilot steers Through the lapse of future years.