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Whereat their stupid tongues, to And down the hollow from a ferny

tease my pain,

Do draw it o'er again and o'er again. They hurt my heart with griefs I cannot name:

Always the same, the same.

Nature hath no surprise, No ambuscade of beauty, 'gainst mine eyes

From brake, or lurking dell, or deep defile;

No humors, frolic forms,- this mile, that mile;

No rich reserves or happy-valley hopes

Beyond the bends of roads, the distant slopes.

Her fancy fails, her wild is all run

tame:

Ever the same, the same. Oh! might I through these tears But glimpse some hill my Georgia high uprears,

Where white the quartz, and pink the pebbles shine,

The hickory heavenward strives, the muscadine

Swings o'er the slope; the oak's farfalling shade

Darkens the dog-wood in the bottom glade,

nook

Bright leaps a living brook!

BETRAYAL.

THE sun has kissed the violet sea,

And turned the violet to a rose.

O Sea! wouldst thou not better be

Mere violet still? Who knows?

who knows?

Well hides the violet in the wood:
The dead leaf wrinkles her a hood,
And winter's ill is violet's good;
But the bold glory of the rose,
It quickly comes and quickly goes;
Red petals whirling in white snows,
Ah me!

The sun has burnt the rose-red sea:
The rose is turned to ashes gray.
O Sea! O Sea! mightst thou but be
The violet thou hast been to-day!
The sun is brave, the sun is bright,
The sun is lord of love and light;
But after him it cometh night.
O anguish of the lonesome dark!
Once a girl's body, stiff and stark,
Was laid in a tomb without a mark.
Ah me!

LUCY LARCOM.

HANNAH BINDING SHOES.

POOR lone Hannah,

Sitting at the window, binding shoes, Faded, wrinkled,

Sitting, stitching, in a mournful

muse.

Bright-eyed beauty once was she, When the bloom was on the tree: Spring and winter,

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Fair young Hannah,

Hannah's at the window, binding Ben, the sunburnt fisher, gayly woos:

shoes.

Not a neighbor,

Passing nod or answer will refuse,

Hale and clever,

For a willing heart and hand he sues. May-day skies are all aglow,

And the waves are laughing so!

9

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Never one has brought her any news. Still her dim eyes silently

Chase the white sails o'er the sea: Hopeless, faithful,

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Hannah's at the window, binding Doubtless she had her romantic

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With a voice to quiet its hourly And a wife will follow by faith, not

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sight,

In the chosen footprint, at any hap.

In the comfort of home who is glad

der than she?

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She reads the hereafter by the here: A beautiful Now, and a better To Be:

In life is all sweetness, in death no fear,

You waste your pity on such as she.

HAND IN HAND WITH ANGELS.

HAND in hand with angels,

Through the world we go; Brighter eyes are on us

Than we blind ones know; Tenderer voices cheer us

Than we deaf will own; Never, walking heavenward, Can we walk alone.

Hand in hand with angels,

In the busy street,
By the winter hearth-fires,-
Everywhere, we meet,
Though unfledged and songless,
Birds of Paradise;

Heaven looks at us daily

Out of human eyes.

Hand in hand with angels;
Oft in menial guise;
By the same strait pathway
Prince and beggar rise.
If we drop the fingers,

Toil-imbrowned and worn,
Then one link with heaven
From our life is torn.

Hand in hand with angels:

Some are fallen,- alas!
Soiled wings trail pollution

Over all they pass.
Lift them into sunshine!

Bid them seek the sky!
Weaker is your soaring,

When they cease to fly. Hand in hand with angels; Some are out of sight, Leading us, unknowing, Into paths of light.

Some dear hands are loosened

From our earthly clasp, Soul in soul to hold us

With a firmer grasp.

Hand in hand with angels,-
'Tis a twisted chain,
Winding heavenward, earthward,
Linking joy and pain.
There's a mournful jarring,
There's a clank of doubt,
If a heart grows heavy,
Or a hand's left out.

Hand in hand with angels
Walking every day;-
How the chain may lengthen,
None of us can say.
But we know it reaches
From earth's lowliest one,
To the shining seraph,

Throned beyond the sun.

Hand in hand with angels!
Blessed so to be!
Helped are all the helpers;
Giving light, they see.
He who aids another

Strengthens more than one;
Sinking earth he grapples
To the Great White Throne.

A STRIP OF BLUE.

I Do not own an inch of land,
But all I see is mine,-
The orchard and the mowing-fields,
The lawns and gardens fine.
The winds my tax-collectors are,
They bring me tithes divine,-
Wild scents and subtle essences,
A tribute rare and free:
And more magnificent than all,
My window keeps for me
A glimpse of blue immensity,-
A little strip of sea.

Richer am I than he who owns
Great fleets and argosies;
I have a share in every ship
Won by the inland breeze
To loiter on yon airy road
Above the apple-trees.

I freight them with my untold dreams,

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Out through the utmost gates of space,

Past where the gay stars drift,
To the widening Infinite, my soul
Glides on, a vessel swift;
Yet loses not her anchorage
In yonder azure rift.

Here sit I, as a little child:

The threshold of God's door
Is that clear band of chrysoprase;
Now the vast temple floor,
The blinding glory of the dome
I bow my head before.
The universe, O God, is home,

In height or depth, to me;
Yet here upon thy footstool green
Content am I to be;

Glad, when is opened to my need
Some sea-like glimpse of thee.

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Only the anointed eye

Sees in common things,

Gleams dropped daily from the sky; Heavenly blossomings.

To the hearts where light has birth Nothing can be drear;

Washed from celestial basement walls Budding through the bloom of earth,

By suns unsetting kissed.

Heaven is always near.

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