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 342 CONSOLATIONS OF SOLITUDE

And shall I fear his wisdom is perplexed,

Since of his acts I cannot learn the next ?

He made all for some end — his love divine

Knows best for what ; it is no care of mine.

Enough, I'll trust, and laugh at thee, whose power,

O universal foe ! must have its hour.

And cease. How weak, whom mortals deem so strong !

Awhile thou shalt o'erwhelm, yet nothing long ;

Thy work began ten billion years ago.

But earth more fair with every age doth grow ;

Scarce canst thou sweep yon frail bridge from on high,

Upon whose arch 'tis writ, life shall not die,

But God, in storm-clouds veiled, rebuilds it in the sky.

��THE SPRING MORNING OF A BEREAVED MAN.

Merry swallow, that wast twittering half the night beneath my

eaves. And art thou come again, old friend, to greet the opening

leaves ? How gladly would I welcome thee, sweet harbinger of spring, That tellest me my garden flowers again are blossoming ! Last year thy song delighted — it is nothing to me now ; My fiowers are out of mind, and no welcome guest art thou, For all things now seem saddest that were sweetest to mc

then ; Fair swallow, fiy away and seek the roofs of happier men ! Let friends that ne'er were parted, let the joyous welcome

thee — O fly away, fly quickly, with thy chattering company !

The morning breeze blows freshly, bearing music on its wing ; But the voice is hushed to silence that was wont for me to sing.

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