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If here such glory dwell with passing blooms, Such golden sunshine rest around the tombs? So thought the dying one. 'Twas early day, And sounds and odours with the breezes' play, Whispering of spring-time, thro' the cabin-door, Unto her couch life's farewell sweetness bore; Then with a look where all her hope awoke, "My father!"—to the grey-hair'd chief she spoke— "Know'st thou that I depart?"—"I know, I know," He answer'd mournfully, "that thou must go To thy belov'd, my daughter!"—"Sorrow not   For me, kind mother!" with meek smiles once more She murmur'd in low tones; "one happy lot   Awaits, us, friends! upon the better shore; For we have pray'd together in one trust, And lifted our frail spirits from the dust, To God, who gave them. Lay me by mine own, Under the cedar-shade: where he is gone Thither I go. There will my sisters be, And the dead parents, lisping at whose knee