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What tongue can tell
The mingled melodies, that mount, and swell,
And float upon the flowery-scented gale,
E'en by the brink of woodland waters heard,
Nor loudest clarion that salutes the morn,
But has some note of gladness still upborne
A hymn of gratitude for life and light,
To the clear heavens fresh opening on the sight.
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY;
SOLD AT THE DEPOSITORY, 56, PATERNOSTER ROW,
BY THE BOOKSELLERS.