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By the sleepy ripple of the stream, Which hath lull'd thee into many a dream; By the shiver of the ivy-leaves To the wind of morn at thy casement-eaves, By the bees' deep murmur in the limes, By the music of the Sabbath-chimes, By every sound of thy native shade, Stronger and dearer the spell is made.

By the gathering round the winter hearth, When twilight call'd unto household mirth; By the fairy tale or the legend old In that ring of happy faces told, By the quiet hour when hearts unite In the parting prayer and the kind "Good-night;" By the smiling eye and the loving tone, Over thy life has the spell been thrown.

And bless that gift!—it hath gentle might, A guardian power and a guiding light.