OCTOBER THIRTY-FIRST
Reading edition
All Hallow's Eve.
John Evelyn born 1620.
Christopher Anstey born 1724.
Ere, in the northern gale The summer tresses of the trees are gone, The woods of autumn, all around our vale, Have put their glory on. The mountains that unfold, In their wide sweep, the colored landscape round, Seem groups of giant kings, in purple and gold, That guard the enchanted ground. Ah! 'twere a lot too blessed Forever in thy colored shades to stray; Amid the kisses of the soft southwest To rove and dream for aye; And leave the vain low strife That makes men mad; the tug for wealth and power, The passions and the cares that wither life, And waste its little hour. —William Cullen Bryant.
Let the field exult, and all that is therein; Then shall all the trees of the wood sing for joy.
—Psalm 96. 12.
My Father, may I have an appreciation of the wonderful creations of the earth. Give me a discriminating eye, that I may know the precious things that thou art growing; and throughout my life may I love the beautiful, and choose that which will make my life worthy of growth. Amen.