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“All thoughts, all passions, all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,
IN THREE VOLUMES.
“But Heaven hath a hand in these events,
MONG the barren, bloomless rocks of
existence, upon a crag that overhung a dark precipice, a soul had built for itself a nest of hope—a soft warm nest, lined with tender fancies and fond anticipations. It was a perilous spot for affection to rest upon; the storm would often shake the crag, and the nest seem in danger of being hurled into the gulfs below. At such times the occupant was fain to leave it, but would not go far, lingering with fond, though diminishing, confidence over that home wherein the heart had trusted so long.