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is unfailing comfort to be found
 * In quiet country ways when shadows run
 * Athwart green pastures with the setting sun,

And coming harvests everywhere abound; The singing streams half-hidden in the ground,
 * The orchard slopes, the kine that one by one
 * Go home for milking now the day is done,

All speak of homes with peace and plenty crowned.

More reconciling thoughts come to the mind
 * At such an hour; we feel the recompense

Of honest toil—draw nearer to our kind
 * In spiritual sympathy, and in the sense

Of some enfolding Care that dwells behind
 * The fixed, dividing walls of circumstance.