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God giveth them to her alone,
And sweet they are as any tone
Wherewith the wind may choose to blow.

Yet in herself she dwelleth not;
Although no home were half so fair ;
No simplest duty is forgot,
Life hath no dim and lowly spot
That doth not in her sunshine share.

She doeth little kindnesses
Which most leave undone or despise ;
For naught that sets one heart at ease,
And giveth happiness or peace,
Is low-esteemed in her eyes.

She hath no scorn of common things,
And, though she seem of other birth,
Round us her heart entwines and clings,
And patiently the folds her wings
To tread the humble paths of earth.

Blessing she is : God made her so,
And deeds of week-day holiness
Fall from her noiseless as the snow,
Nor hath she ever chanced to know
That aught were easier than to bless.

She is most fair, and thereunto
Her life doth rightly harmonize ;

Feeling or thought that was not true
Ne'er made less beautiful the blue
Unclouded heaven of her eyes.

She is a woman: one in whom
The spring-time of her childish years
Hath never lost its fresh perfume,
Though knowing well that life hath room
For many blights and many tears.

I love her with a love as still
As a broad river's peaceful might,
Which, by high tower and lowly mill,
Goes wandering at its own will,
And yet doth ever flow aright.

And, on its full, deep breast serene,
Like quiet isles my duties lie ;
It flows around them and between,
And makes them fresh, and fair, and green,
Sweet homes wherein to live and die.

7. R. Lowell.

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L

ATE to our town there came a maid,

A noble woman, true and pure, Who in the little while she stayed,

Wrought works that shall endure.

It was not anything she said.

It was not anything she did :
It was the movement of her head -

The lifting of her lid.

Her little motions when she spoke,

The presence of an upright soul, The living light that from her broke,

It was the perfect whole :

We saw it in her floating hair,

We saw it in her laughing eye ; For every look and feature there,

Wrought works that cannot die.

For the to many spirits gave

A reverence for the true, the pure, The perfect, - that has power to save,

And make the doubting sure.

She passed — she went to other lands,

She knew not of the work she did ; The wondrous product of her hands,

From her is ever hid.

Forever, did I say ? O, no !

The time must come when she will look Upon her pilgrimage below,

And find it in God's book,

That, as she trod her path aright,

Power from her very garments stole ; For such is the mysterious might

God grants the upright soul.

A deed, a word, our careless rest,

A simple thought, a common feeling, If He be present in the breast,

Has from Hím powers of healing.

Go, maiden, with thy golden treffes,

Thine azure eye and changing cheek, Go, and forget the one who blesses

Thy presence through the week.

Forget him : he will not forget,

But strive to live and testify
Thy goodness, when Earth's sun has set,
And Time itself rolled by.

7. H. Perkins.

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Expression holy, deep, resigned —
The calm sublimity of mind.
Years o'er his snowy head have past,
And left him of his race the last,
Alone on earth, but yet his mien
Is bright with majesty serene ;
And those high hopes, whose guiding star
Shines from eternal worlds afar,
Have with that light illumined his eye
Whose fount is immortality ;
And o'er his features poured a ray
Of glory, not to pass away.
He seems a being who hath known
Communion with his God alone;
On earth by nought but pity's tie,
Detained a moment from on high,
One to sublimer worlds allied,
One from all passions purified,
Even now half mingled with the sky,
And all prepared, oh, not to die,
But, like the prophet, to aspire
To heaven's triumphal car of fire !

Mrs. Hemans.

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