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THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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In that strange grave without a name,—whence his uncoffined clay
Shall break again, O wondrous thought! before the judgment day,
And stand, with glory wrapt around, on the hills he never trod,
And speak of the strife that won our life, with the inÂcarnate Son of God.
O lonely grave in Moab's land ! O dark Beth-Peor's
hill! Speak to these curious hearts of ours, and teach them
to be still. God hath his mysteries of grace, ways that we cannot
tell; He hides them deep, like the hidden sleep of him he
loved so well. |
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THE IRISH MOTHER'S LAMENT
" She watched for the return of her son from America in her house by the Foyle, near Derry."
" rT"*HERE'S no one on the long white road The night is closing o'er; O mother ! cease to look abroad And let me shut the door. |
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"Now here and there a twinkling light Comes out along the bay ; The little ships lie still and white, And no one comes this way." |
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