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all things that God has made
 * That show His ordered care and might,

But most, I think, I love the wind
 * That blows at night.

It holds so much of mystery,
 * Like that in mine own restless heart—

Brother to me and well-beloved,
 * Wind, thou art!

Across these unresisting plains
 * It sweeps at times with force sublime,

And always like the wraith it seems
 * Of happier clime.

For in the South its home has been,
 * A sun-kissed, warm and fertile land,

Where Nature pours her treasure from
 * Unstinting hand.