Page:A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields.djvu/132

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smiles there? Is it A stray spirit Or woman fair? Sombre yet soft is the brow! Bow, nations, bow; O soul in air, Speak, what art thou?

In grief the fair face seems— What mean these sudden gleams! Our antique pride and dreams Start up, as beams The conquering glance; It makes our sad hearts dance, And wakes in woods hushed long The wild bird's song.

Angel of day! Our Hope, Love, Stay, Thy countenance Lights land and sea Eternally. Thy name is France Or Verity.