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Rh Even on this our toilsome way there come Sweet scents from bruised flowers, and winds astray : The sound of sunshine in the wild bees' hum ; While, tamed with fear, the birds around us play. The very dumb things gain some good from harm, — Courage from fright, and boldness from alarm. Still it is hard— no darkness will be light, Though we should call it light from night till morn ; We can but wait until the dawning bright Shall shew us how it was we were forlorn ; Not all forlorn, — through deepest darkness, friend, Love's joy alone doth never change nor end.