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Yes! all things tell us of a birthright lost, A brightness from our nature passed away! Wanderers we seem, that from an alien coast, Would turn to where their Father's mansion lay, And but by some lone flower, that midst decay Smiles mournfully, or by some sculptured stone, Revealing dimly, with grey moss o'ergrown, The faint-worn impress of its glory's day, Can trace their once free heritage; though dreams Fraught with its picture, oft in startling gleams Flash o'er their Souls.—But one, oh! One alone, For us the ruined fabric may rebuild, And bid the wilderness again be filled, With Eden—flowers—One, mighty to atone!