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And hear thy sweet "my father from these dumb

And cold lips, Absalom !

"The grave hath won thee. I shall hear the gush Of music, and the voices of the

young; And life will pass me in the mantling blush,

And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung;« But thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shalt come

To meet me, Absalom ! " And, oh! when I am stricken, and my heart,

Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken, How will its love for thee, as I depart,

Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token! It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom,

To see thee, Absalom !

“And now, farewell! 'Tis hard to give thee up,

With death so like a gentle slumber on thee :And thy dark sin !-Oh! I could drink the cup,

If from this wo its bitterness had won thee. May God have called thee, like a wanderer, home,

My erring Absalom!"
He covered

up his face, and bowed himself
A moment on his child: then, giving him
A look of melting tenderness, he clasped
His hands convulsively, as if in prayer;
And, as a strength were given him of God,
He rose up calmly, and composed the pall
Firmly and decently, and left him there,
As if his rest had been a breathing sleep.



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