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Rh Thy frame is faded, gray thy head, Thy gum hath all its teeth now shed, Thy hand-held stick doth tremble fair,— Yet brittle hope thou leavest ne’er.

In thee, in me, elsewhere is He; In vain thou waxest wroth with me; Man! in thyself all selves behold, And sense of difference withhold.

These sixteen quatrains sweetly thought To pupils often should be taught; What further can I do for those Whose brains with this will not unclose?

May, 1899.