The tints of autumn...a mighty flower garden blossoming under the spell of the enchanter, frost.

Low stir of leaves and dip of oars And lapsing waves on quiet shores.

Our toil is sweet with thankfulness, Our burden is our boon; The curse of earth's gray morning is The blessing of its noon.

The hope of all earnest souls must be realized.

Oh, talk as we may of beauty as a thing to be chiselled from marble or wrought out on canvas, speculate as we may upon its colors and outlines, what is it but an intellectual abstraction, after all? The heart feels a beauty of another kind; looking through the outward environment, it discovers a deeper and more real love-liness.

God is good and God is light In this faith I rest secure, Evil can but serve the right, Over all shall love endure.

Round the boles of the pine-wood the ground-laurel creeps, Unkissed of the sunshine, unbaptized of showers, With buds scarcely swelled, which should burst into flowers!