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 BY THE CONEMAUGH

(MAY 31, 1889)

sudden of untoward change,

A tight'ning clasp on everything held dear,

A moan of waters wild and strange,

A whelming horror near;

And, midst the thund’rous din a voice of doom,—

Make way for me, O Life, for Death make room!

Where thou hast builded with strength secure

My hand shall spread disaster;

Where thou hast barr'd me, with forethought sure,

Shall ruin flow the faster;

I come to gather where thou hast sowed,—

But I claim of thee nothing thou hast not owed!

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