The howling winds rage around my casement. The summer is past, and
everything indicates that winter will soon be here. The seared leaves
are falling from their homes in the waving forests; the earth has
thrown aside her gay mantle of green, and one scene of desolation
presents itself to the eye. The decay of nature brings with it sad and
solemn reflections, how much more the decay of the human form--of
which autumn seems so striking an emblem. The days of man are few.
Like the flower of the field he perisheth, and yet how few seem to
realize it! O God, teach me to apply my heart unto wisdom. Help me to
love and serve thee, that when "the heavens shall be dissolved and the
elements shall melt with fervent heat" I may not be among those who
shall take up the sad lamentation: "The harvest is past, the summer is
ended, and we are not saved."--_Oct._, 1852.