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12 rain and thunder and lighting and was wether for the season
I had very restless night but am better then I expected , O that I might be truly sensible of the goodness of god to me,
Eleven Month this day that Lydia was numbered withe the dead to the valley of the shadow of death, the world for a brief Moment seems a blank, and all our joys, like flowers, Withered by the rude, rough blast, droop and are no longer Lovely to the senses, A dark cloud hangs over our destiny, Death’s black eclipse has overshadowed us, and I am, Brooding over our Sorrows and will not be comforted.
[Indented into center of the page] Sweet innocent, farewell thourt gone
to mingle with the blest above
And we are left to weep alone,
And still thy memory fondly love, [End of indent]