Here is the place; right over the hill
Runs the path I
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So fallen! so lost! the light withdrawn
Which once he wore!
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The birds against the April wind
Flew northward, singing as they
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Before my drift-wood fire I sit,
And see, with every waif I
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The harp at Nature's advent strung
Has never ceased to play;&nbs
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Blessings on thee, little man,
Barefoot boy, with cheek of tan! <
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Here, while the loom of Winter weaves
The shroud of flowers and fountains,
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Maud Muller on a summer's day
Raked the meadow sweet with hay.
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O Friends! with whom my feet have trod
The quiet aisles of prayer,
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O Mother Earth! upon thy lap
Thy weary ones receiving,
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The blast from Freedom's Northern hills, upon its Southern way,
Bears greeting to Virginia from Massachusetts Bay:
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Up the streets of Aberdeen,
By the kirk and college green,
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He comes, - he comes, - the Frost Spirit comes!
You may trace his footsteps now
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Immortal love, forever full,
Forever flowing free,
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My heart was heavy, for its trust had been
Abused, its kindness answered with foul wrong;
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Outbound, your bark awaits you. Were I one
Whose prayer availeth much, my wish should be
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"Put up the sword!" The voice of Christ once more
Speaks, in the pauses of the cannon's roar,
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Oh, greenly and fair in the lands of the sun,
The vines of the gourd and the rich melon run,
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Is this the land our fathers loved,
The freedom which they toiled to win?
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In the outskirts of the village
On the river's winding shores
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When first I saw our banner wave
Above the nation's council-hall,
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CHAMPION of those who groan beneath Oppression's iron hand:
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'T WAS night. The tranquil moonlight smile With which Heaven dreams of Earth, shed down
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"ALL ready?" cried the captain; "Ay, ay!" the seamen said;
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O THOU, whose presence went before Our fathers in their weary way,
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HAVE ye heard of our hunting, o'er mountain and glen, Through cane-brake and forest, — the hunting of men?
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JUST God! and these are they Who minister at thine altar, God of Right!
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MEN of the North-land! where's the manly spirit Of the true-hearted and the unshackled gone?
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GONE to thy Heavenly Father's rest! The flowers of Eden round thee blowing,
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WHEN Freedom, on her natal day, Within her war-rocked cradle lay,
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