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A VOICE FROM AFRICA. 11
They are fading—they are fading!
Those—the beautiful and young— Who with us began life's journey,
And whose memory round us clung; Who have oft been in our visions
Since we left their happy band— Now, how many seem to beckon
From that distant spirit-land!
They are falling—they are falling,
Like the autumn flowers that die ! Like the leaflets of the forest,
Which e'en now are rustling by ! I shall meet them—I shall meet them,
■When, like them, I fall in death; In the spirit-land I '11 greet them,
Far from Time's bleak, withering breath!
A VOICE FROM AFRICA.
Come over and help us.—Bible.
Hark ! a voice is on the gale,
So shrill and clear ; Its wild accents cannot fail
To pain thine ear!
Lo ! a hand across the seas
Beckons to you! A banner, flung upon the breeze, • Appears in view!