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L. M.


Blessed Are They That Mourn.

Deem not that they are blest alone

Whose days a peaceful tenor keep;

The God who loves our race has shown

A blessing for the eyes that weep.

The light of smiles shall fill again

The lids that now o’erflow with tears,

And weary hours of woe and pain

Are earnests of serener years.

O, there are days of hope and rest

For every dark and troubled night!

And grief may bide, an evening guest,

But joy shall come with morning light.

And ye, who o’er a friend’s low bier

Now shed the bitter drops like rain,

Know that a brighter, happier sphere

Will give him to your arms again.

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