And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief, and the year

The poet William Cullen Bryant, with words woven like threads of autumn light, declared: “And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief, and the year smiles as it draws near its death.” In these lines we hear the solemn music of time, the eternal cycle of life and death, of seasons passing and renewal awaiting. He speaks of the waning year, of days that shorten and sunlight that softens, carrying with it both beauty and the inevitability of decline. The sun, once mighty and bold in summer’s reign, becomes meek—gentle, tender, fading—as the year itself approaches its end.

This image is more than a description of autumn. It is a mirror held up to the human journey. In youth, strength blazes like the midsummer sun, commanding the sky. Yet as age approaches, the brightness dims, and the light, though weaker, becomes more tender, more graceful. The briefness of days is not to be feared but embraced, for in their brevity there is meaning, just as the final smile of the year, glowing through golden leaves, is one of acceptance, not despair. Bryant teaches us that there is beauty even in decline, and joy in the acceptance of endings.

Consider the life of Marcus Aurelius, the Roman emperor-philosopher, who ruled with might but also wrote of mortality with humility. In his Meditations, he reflected that the setting of life is as natural as the setting of the sun. Though his empire demanded power, his wisdom was gentle, his acceptance of death serene. Like Bryant’s fading year, Marcus Aurelius did not rage at the end, but smiled at it, seeing in mortality the natural close of a great cycle. His life teaches us that the meek sun is not weakness—it is dignity.

Bryant himself, steeped in the Romantic tradition of the nineteenth century, often wrote of nature as teacher and prophet. In these lines he draws upon the turning of seasons as an allegory for human life. Just as autumn’s fading light prepares the earth for winter’s sleep, so too does the passing of years prepare the soul for rest. But note how he says, “the year smiles as it draws near its death.” This is no grim resignation. It is the serenity of one who has lived fully, who sees death not as an enemy but as a gentle companion arriving at the appointed hour.

How many among us fear endings, shrinking from the shortening of our days? Yet in history there are those who, like the year, smiled at their final hours. The philosopher Socrates, condemned to drink hemlock, spent his last day in discourse with his students, his spirit calm, his words filled with humor and wisdom. He did not curse fate but embraced it, teaching that the cycle of life is not broken by death, but fulfilled through it. His death was the autumn of his life—gentle, brief, yet glowing with truth.

The lesson, dear listeners, is clear: do not resist the shortening of your days, nor lament the gentling of your strength. Instead, learn to smile as the year does—to see beauty in endings and dignity in decline. Every fading light carries its own radiance, every ending its own grace. In this truth lies freedom from fear. For life is not diminished by brevity; it is sanctified by it.

Practical wisdom flows from this ancient teaching. Live each season of your life with fullness, knowing that each has its own purpose. Do not cling to summer when autumn arrives, nor resist the gentleness of age when youth has passed. Instead, give yourself to the moment, and let the meek sun teach you that gentleness and brevity hold their own glory. Plant seeds while you may, nurture love while it is given, and when the time comes, smile at the closing of your own year.

Thus, Bryant’s words are not a dirge, but a hymn of acceptance. They remind us that life, like the sun, shines brightest not when it burns without end, but when it knows how to fade with grace. So let all who walk this earth remember: when your days grow brief, let your heart grow wide; when your strength grows meek, let your spirit grow mighty. And when the year of your life draws near its death, may you, too, smile at its beauty, for in that smile lies the highest wisdom.