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SUMMER HAS FLOWN. 383
Summer ! I trod thy grassy lawn At evening, and at early dawn ;
But, 0 ! by faith I trod A brighter^ holier clime than this, ' A land of pure, unsullied bliss,
The paradise of God.
Ah, summer ! with thy latest sigh, A loved one pass'd into the sky,
From all her sorrows fled ; Yes, with the last, sweet fading rose, She sunk to undisturb'd repose,
The slumber of the dead.
By that fair friend, these summer hours Have not been spent among the flowers,
Nor has the balmy air Scarce kiss'd that fading, hectic cheek— She languish'd long, submissive, meek,
Debarr'd from scenes so fair.
Where an eternal summer gleams, Her spirit all immortal beams,—
Thither I hasten on, T' enjoy* with her a cloudless day Of summer brightness, whose sweet ray
Shall never be withdrawn.
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