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C. M.


The Dead.

The dead are like the stars by day,

Withdrawn from mortal eye,

Yet holding unperceived their way

Through the unclouded sky.

By them, through holy hope and love,

We feel, in hours serene,

Connected with a world above,

Immortal and unseen.

For death his sacred seal hath set

On bright and bygone hours;

And they we mourn are with us yet,

Are more than ever ours;—

Ours, by the pledge of love and faith,

By hopes of heaven on high;

By trust, triumphant over death,

In immortality.

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