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16 SONGS FROM THE ST. LAWRENCE.
More fearful is their sound
Than the quick, sharp, steel-bow's twang -And deadlier far the wound
Than that of the serpent's fang; And severer far the blow
Than that of the rankling dart, Bidding the life-blood flow
From the writhing, quiv'ring heart.
Wounds by the pointed steel,
Though deep and severe they be, We hope to see them heal,
We hope for a remedy; But woe to thy frail heart,
If wounded by rankling words! The keen and growing smart
No room for relief affords!
Suggested by seeing four children disinterred, and placed by the side of their mother.
Come, lowly ones, and take your places now Beside the mother, who so long had wept,
Had mourn'd your absence with an aching brow, And eyes that stream'd with tears while others slept;