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C. M.

Mrs. Hemans.

Death of the Young.

Calm on the bosom of thy God,

Fair spirit, rest thee now!

E’en while with us thy footstep trod,

His seal was on thy brow.

Dust, to its narrow house beneath!

Soul, to its home on high!

They that have seen thy look in death

No more may fear to die.

Lone are the paths, and sad the hours,

Since thy meek spirit’s gone;

But, O, a brighter home than ours,

In heaven, is now thine own!

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