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386 FOREST MELODIES.
Fancy was tracing far away,
Through the dim mist of years, The paths where those glad steps would stray, The sorrows of some future day, • In this lone vale of tears.
Some of that group she saw would fall
Into an early tomb; Others would tread this gloomy ball, And drink from sorrow's cup of gall,
Till weary of their doom.
Ah! who may tell ? What thought may trace
Their course beyond this life ? Who knoweth the deep dreams of peace, The whirlwinds that may never cease,
The spirit's calm or strife ?
But hark ! amid that bustling throng,
Voices grow soft and low ; They cease—and now the voice of song In sacred numbers swells along,
In deep, harmonious flow.
And now upon the list'ning ear
The music dies away; And, from the deep hush'd stillness there, Rises the solemn voice of prayer,
In holy fervency.