The Groves Were God's First Temples.

Fairest Of All That Earth Beholds, The Hues That Live Among The Clouds, And Flush The Air, Lingering, And Deepening At The Hour Of Dews.

Glorious Are The Woods In Their Latest Gold And Crimson.

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.

Glorious Are The Woods In Their Latest Gold And Crimson, Yet Our Full-leaved Willows Are In The Freshest Green. Such A Kindly Autumn, So Mercifully Dealing With The Growths Of Summer, I Never Yet Have Seen.

Follow Thou Thy Choice.