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There grow the flowers, the last to/be f&rgot, Where the dim sunbeam shines!
" 0 ! bear us swifter onward, rolling tide,
On to our blissful home— There, there are hearts, and arms, that open wide—-
Sweet friends, to you we eome !
" Kay, nay! our feet may never press that shore;
Our hearts, that beat so high— To us 'tis given, as life's last dream is o'er,
In sight of home to die!"
Who does not love the sunshine,
Whether its genial glow Falls on* the dewy greensward,
Or on the pearly snow ? For there is something cheering
In its unclouded rays, When o'er the troubled spirit • Gathers a dimming haze. .-• 0! the spirit is connected,
By a mysterious chain Of secret, golden sympathies, To this dark world of pain. 15