Summer is a prodigal of joy. The grass Swarms with delighted insects as I pass, And crowds of grasshoppers at every stride Jump out all ways with happiness their guide; And from my brushing feet moths flit away In safer places to pursue their play. In crowds they start. I marvel, well I may, To see such worlds of insects in the way, And more to see each thing, however small, Sharing joy's bounty that belongs to all. And here I gather, by the world forgot, Harvests of comfort from their happy mood, Feeling God's blessing dwells in every spot And nothing lives but owes him gratitude.

I am the self-consumer of my woes.

My fears are agitated to an extreme degree and the dread of death involves me in a stupor of chilling indisposition.

I found the poems in the fields And only wrote them down

If life had a second edition, how I would correct the proofs.

I long for scenes where man has never trod;... There to abide with my Creator, God.

I am gennerally understood tho I do not use that awkward squad of pointings called commas colons semicolons etc.