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 Thus each glorious day goes by In unhurried industry; And each night, the dear day done, Brings no setting to our sun. Sweet, sweet life, that knows no change! —Just what Janet finds so strange. I must get that child away For a good long holiday; Young things need to rove and range. But Oh! I triumph in my lot! Oh! I glory in my life! Could my fortune be more fair? ....Mistress of my home-made home, Mother of my happy pair, Happy Andrew’s happy wife!

Sometimes, in the quiet night, I lie still and think it over, Feel and finger o’er my joys, As my Jeanie does her toys. Till, as, drowsied with delight, Down the darling sinks to sleep, Carelessly in careful arms Cradled safely, nestling deep: So I, slipping out of thought, Sure of nothing else, still feel Folded safe in happiness, Buoy’d up in the great Caress Of some lasting, world-wide Weal; Mighty; more than all things, Real!

Shallow, once, quite dry in drought, Lay my little rock-bound well; Pain his fuse and powder brought,