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Waters! sparkling, free, Spanning the globe with your ministry,— In the tireless might of an angel's wing, Sent from the courts above, Tidings of mercy and peace to bring To man, the child of love. Onward ye press, in your mission proud, And still with spirit free Receive the wealth of the weeping cloud, And bury it in the sea.

The little fountain in the wild, The play-place of the laughing child, Who dreams, as he mocks its bubbling force, With his tiny feet to bar its course, Strikes a line of silver out, And the wild flowers follow it all about, While the winged seeds that the breezes bear, Make their cell on its margin fair.