Spare us!—oh! spare our youth, with verdure crowned—
Our groves return to deserts when we pass;
The coasts which we revived, in sands are drowned;
Bare slopes but yield their stones and bitter-grass.
Spare us! we bring you beauty, shelter, wealth,
Oh! waste us not. Oh! keep with guiltless show
The Holy Time; and life, and joy, and health,
Be gifts to you, while winds of Winter blow.
—Eliza Woodworth.
