Lord, let me see a joyful harvest of all my poor endeavors to glorify thee. Let me reap with joy. Lord, let me arrive at my grave, and thy floor, as a shock of corn fully ripe, in the season thereof.
Lord, affect me and the rest of mankind, with a sense of our mortality, for we all do fade as a leaf.
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
The following is an extract from Cotton Mather's diary from the period of 1715-1716: