THE summer has passed away. Its frail

flowers have withered and died, and the

gorgeous autumn flowers unfold their bright

leaves instead. The maples have changed

their bright green suit for robes of crimson

and gold. The forest leaves have turned a

rich brown, and given the earth a fine carpeting.

The poplars still are beautiful as

the gentle breeze sways their branches to

and fro, and exposes the silvery lining of

their leaves. "The wild ivy, now changed

to a golden hue, encircles many a tree trunk

with a glorious crown." The nuts are ripe,

and falling from the trees, and the squirrel

begins his task of storing them away for

winter use.

The birds have ceased their warblings,

and flown away to a warmer climate. The

song of the "brown old grasshopper"

seems touched with a slight sadness; but

the shrill cricket pours forth his music as

merrily as if the sunny days were to last

forever. Though some things cling to their

summer garb much longer than others, yet

all have finally to submit to the chilly winds

and biting frosts of stern November.

The waning year brings to mind the fact

that things here are subject to decay and

death. Everything that is beautiful, and

calculated to bring us joy and peace, has

been marred by Satan's destructive hand.

No lasting pleasure here. But God has

graciously given to those who love him the

promise of an inheritance

"In that land of light and glory,"

where decay and death are not known.