On this gay morn, the first day of autumn,
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I reflect.—Thanks be to God! For how strange
that I've, like a pilgrim, traveled life's range,
and have survived its dark snares, unlike some:
thus, I am grateful that I have overcome!
At this time of year, the seasons alter, change;
the sun grows milder; the leaves brown, red, orange,
as they give up their branches and succumb.
How wonderful to be alive now! I,
no stranger to grief, despair, or sorrow,
can hardly contain my joy as I grow
and wax hopeful: for the change of seasons
restores, and Nature, earth, and sky beautify
once more:—'tis God's will, and for these reasons.