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Alas, alas! the nearing time,

The sad, sad day to me,
When ’neath the daisies, cold and white,

These hands will folded be.

But O beyond these shadowy lands,

Where all is bright and fair,
I know full well these dear old hands

Will palms of victory bear;
Where crystal streams thro' endless years

Flow over golden sands,
And where the old grow young again,

I'll clasp my mother's hands.

UNDER MILTON'S PICTURE.

J. DRYDEN.

Three Poets, in three distant ages born,
Greece, Italy, and England did adorn.
The first in loftiness of thought surpassed;
The next in majesty; in both the last.
The force of Nature could no further go;
To make a third, she joined the former two.

WOMAN'S VOICE.

EDWIN ARNOLD.

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OT in the swaying of the summer trees,

When evening breezes sing their vesper hymn-
Not in the minstrel's mighty symphonies,

Nor ripples breaking on the river's brim,
Is earth's best music; these may leave awhile
High thoughts in happy hearts, and carking

cares beguile.

But even as the swallow's silken wings,

Skimming the water of the sleeping lake, Stir the still silver with a hundred rings-

So doth one sound the sleeping spirit wake To brave the danger and to bear the hariA low and gentle voice-dear woman's chiefest charm.

An excellent thing it is! and ever lent

To truth, and love, and meekness; they who own This gift by the all gracious Giver sent,

Ever by quiet step and smile are known: By kind eyes that have wept, hearts that have sorrow'dBy patience never tired, from their own trials borrow'd.

An excellent thing it is--when first in gladness

A mother looks into her infant's eyes-
Smiles to its smiles, and saddens at its sadness-

Pales at its paleness, sorrows at its cries;
Its food and sleep, and smiles and little joys-
All these come ever blent with one low, gentle voice.

An excellent thing it is when life is leaving

Leaving with gloom and gladness, joys and caresThe strong heart failing, and the high soul grieving

With strongest thoughts, and wild, unwonted fears; Then, then, a woman's low, soft sympathy Comes like an angel's voice to teach us how to die.

But a most excellent thing it is in youth,

When the fond lover hears the loved one's tone. That fears, but longs, to syllable the truth

How their two hearts are one, and she his own; It makes sweet human music-oh! the spells That haunt the trembling tale a bright-eyed maiden tells.

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HEN the mists have rolled in splendor

From the beauty of the hills,
And the sunshine, warm and tender,

Falls in kisses on the rills,
We may read love's shining letter

In the rainbow of the spray,
We shall know each other better

When the mists have cleared away.

If we err, in human blindness,

And forget that we are dust;
If we miss the law of kindness

When we struggle to be just,
Snowy wings of peace shall cover

All the plain that hides away, -
When the weary watch is over,

And the mists have cleared away.

When the mists have risen above us,

As our Father knows his own,
Face to face with those that love us,

We shall know as we are known;

Love, beyond the orient meadows

Floats the golden fringe of day, Heart to heart, we bide the shadows,

Till the mists have cleared away.

We shall know as we are known,
Nevermore to walk alone,

In the dawning of the morning,
When the mists have cleared away

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