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And on our path, where'er we roam,
That through the earth, and through the sea, Led on its ters sweet and cold,
In unstained purity;
And oh! how fondly, on its brink,
And listen to its lay ;-
Young mother !—'t is a joy to creep,
When many joys are gone,-
Where memory keeps the stone!
Till, soothed by voices from the tomb,
That came to counsel — and depart, When earth, from heaven, had visitings,
And angels talked with men apart,-
Hath hung them round the heart,-
My soul is glad to gaze on thee ;-
IV. Even now in the midst of that circle blest, There are lonely thoughts in thine aching breast; And how wouldst thou weep, if, bereft of all, Thou shouldst sit alone in thine empty hall ?