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Life is only bright when it proceedeth Towards a truer, deeper life above;

Couldst thou withdraw thy hand one Human love is sweetest when it lead

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We've not proud nor soaring wings; With the blue above, and the blue

Touch us gently, Time!

Our ambition, our content,

Lies in simple things.

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Time, like the winged wind When 't bends the flowers, Hath left no mark behind, To count the hours!

Now she pales and shrinks away, Earth, into thy gentle bosom!

She hath done her bidding here, Angels dear!

Some weight of thought, though loath, Bear her perfect soul above,

On thee he leaves;

Some lines of care round both

Perhaps he weaves;

Some fears,

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a soft regret

For joys scarce known; Sweet looks we half forget;All else is flown!

Ah!- With what thankless heart

I mourn and sing!
Look, where our children start,
Like sudden spring!

With tongues all sweet and low
Like pleasant rhyme,
They tell how much I owe
To thee and time!

SOFTLY WOO AWAY HER BREATH.

SOFTLY WOO away her breath,
Gentle death!

Let her leave thee with no strife,
Tender, mournful, murmuring life!
She hath seen her happy day,
She hath had her bud and blos-
som;

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CONTOOCOOK RIVER.

OF all the streams that seek the sea By mountain pass, or sunny lea, Now where is one that dares to vie With clear Contoocook, swift and shy?

Monadnock's child, of snow-drifts born,

The snows of many a winter morn,
And many a midnight dark and still,
Heaped higher, whiter, day by day,
To melt, at last, with suns of May,
And steal in tiny fall and rill,
Down the long slopes of granite gray:
Or, filter slow through seam and cleft,
When frost and storm the rock have
To bubble cool in sheltered springs
reft,
Where the lone red-bird dips his
wings,

Stoops, safe from hound and horn, to
And the tired fox that gains its brink

drink.

And rills and springs, grown broad and deep,

Unite through gorge and glen to

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How fast its tide goes hurrying down, With rapids now, and now a leap Past giant boulders, black and steep, Plunged in mid water, fain to keep Its current from the meadows green ? But, flecked with foam, it speeds along;

And not the birch trees' silvery sheen,
Nor the soft lull of whispering pines,
Nor hermit thrushes, fluting low,
Nor ferns, nor cardinal flowers that
glow

Where clematis, the fairy, twines,
Can stay its course, or still its song;
Ceaseless it flows till, round its bed,
The vales of Henniker are spread,
Their banks all set with golden grain,
Or stately trees whose vistas gleam
A double forest in the stream;

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