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Many the chapters dark with fear and failing,

Or bright with hope of conquests yet to be; There wrote we how the land was rent with wailing,

Blent with the exultant sounds of jubilee.

The lists we lingered o'er with reverent sorrow,
Filled full as heaven of stars with hero-names,
A deathless light from Freedom's triumphs borrow,
Kindling their laurel-wreaths to martyr-flames.

Round the red chronicles on every border,
Illuminations done by Mercy's hand
Show fair, amid fierce battling and disorder,
Her white tents gleaming up and down the land.

The book is closed, and in His holy keeping
Who, smiting, heals a Nation free and brave;
Who careth for the widow lowly weeping,
Rebukes the traitor, and redeems the slave.

Despite its glooms, the grand heroic story

We need not blush to ponder o'er again;
For Freedom on the title page wrote " Glory,"
And on the last, with firmer pen, “Amen ! ”
Harriet McEwen Kimball.

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Child of the sun! pursue thy rapturous flight
Clang, clang! the massive anvils ring..

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Closed is the book whose crimson-lettered pages..

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Come up the broad river, the Thames, my Dane..

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Do they miss me at home, do they miss me?.

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Eve's gold and crimson pinions glow..................

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Faint on Rephaim's sultry side..

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Faintly flow, thou falling river!...

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Fair insect, that with thread-like legs spread out..

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Gentle strangers, which would ye.....

Got one? don't say so! which did you get?..................

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Here, a sheer hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling..

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Hopes on hopes from the bosom sever....

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How beautiful! a garden fair as heaven....
How beautiful is the rain...

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How happy is he born and taught....

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How shall I know thee in the sphere which keeps.

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How sweet it were, if without feeble fright..
How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank..

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I love to hear thine earnest voice, wherover thou art hid.....

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I never was a favorite, my mother never smiled..

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In their ragged regimentals.....

I think of thee, whene'er the sun is glowing.

It is not they who idly dwell....

It must not be; this day, this hour.........

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King Francis was a hearty king, and loved a royal`sport..... 267
Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one.....

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Let Taylor preach upon a morning breezy..

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Let me not to the marriage of true minds..
Life! I know not what thou art...
Likeness of heaven!.........

Living or dying, Lord, I would be thine.
Look, love, to yonder mountain's brow.

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Mary to her Savior's tomb...

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Milton! thou should'st be living at this hour..

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My ear-rings! my ear-rings! they've dropped into the well..
My fairest child, I have no song to give you..

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Not on a prayerless bed, not on a prayerless bed,.

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Not worlds on worlds, in phalanx deep.....

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Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are!.. 100

O! blest of heaven, whom not the languid songs..

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O dwellers on the mountain top!.......

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Of this fair volume, which we world do name.

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Oft I heard of Lucy Gray.....

O God! have mercy in this dreadful hour..

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Oh! had we some bright little isle of our own

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Oh, heard ye yon pibroch sound sad in the gale..

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Oh, Paradise must fairer be..

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Oh, whither sail you, Sir John Franklin..

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O Lord of Hosts! Almighty King!.

O maid of Isla, from the cliff.......

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O sisters of Santa Clara....

Our bugles sang truce, for the night-cloud had lower'd.

Over the river they beckon to me..

O ye keen breezes from the salt Atlantic...

Pause not to dream of the future before us..
Pilgrim on life's toilsome journey........
Poor little sprite! in that dark narrow cell..

Quivering fears, heart-rending cares..

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Rock'd in the cradle of the deep....

Roll on, thou deep and dark-blue ocean-roll !.

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See before us, in our journey, broods a mist upon the ground.. 198
See the golden sunlight now.....

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She came to a world where the loveliest flowers..

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Sing on, sweet thrush, upon the leafless bough..

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Sir Marmaduke was a hearty knight......

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Smiles melt the foemen into love.....

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Solemn and sweet was her smile, while their hearts beat loud

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Surely yon heaven, where angels see God's face...

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