"When earth's last picture is painted, and the tubes are twisted and dried, When the oldest colors have faded, and youngest critic has died, We shall rest, and, faith, we shall need it --lie down for an aeon or two. Till the Master of All Good Workmen shall set us to work anew..." ~Rudyard Kipling~
Who said November's face was grim? Who said her voice was harsh and sad? I heard her sing in wood paths dim, I met her on the shore so glad, So smiling, I could kiss her feet! There never was a month so sweet. —Lucy Larcom
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11/01/2022 12:01:00 AM Permalink
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Labels: The Seasons, Verses
The LORD shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even for evermore.
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