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Of the dim hour are gathering o'er my sight, And yet I fear not, for the God of Help Comes in that quiet darkness!—It may soothe Thy woes, my mother! if I tell thee now, With what glad calmness I behold the veil Falling between me and the world, wherein My heart so ill hath rested.

Thine!

Rejoice For her, that, when the garland of her life Was blighted, and the springs of hope were dried, Received her summons hence; and had no time, Bearing the canker at th' impatient heart, To wither, sorrowing for that gift of Heaven, Which lent one moment of existence light, That dimm'd the rest for ever!

How is this? My child, what mean'st thou?

Mother! I have loved, And been beloved!—the sunbeam of an hour,