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When such friends question this fond heart's devotion,
And coldness seems to gather round the heart; I think of Heaven—and with a faint, sick feeling,
Loathing all earthly things, I turn away ; Then a sweet rapture, through ray bosom stealing,
Seems like the morn-break of eternal day.
0! in that clime, for which my soul is sighing, • I shall be known as I am known of God; And shall be loved too with a love undying,
Where disappointment never can corrode! Fain would my spirit spread her drooping pinions,
Fly through the clouds of death to that blest shore; Escape the blighting of Time's dark dominions,
And dwell where grief should never reach me more.
Rustling leaves! ye have a tone, Have a language all your own: Now I hear you sadly say— " We have bloom'd but to decay."
When the cold November's blast, Fiercely breathing, hurries past,— Then you '11 whisper, with a sigh, " All, like us, must fade -and die."