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Rh Till Margaret, o’er the page God-given Musing with love-illumin’d mind, Reads this amid the lettering twined: “As the look of the downs to the look of heaven, My will to Thine, Lord, be resign’d!”

—Often the bees’ low song, enwove With sunbeams and warm clover-scent, Floats in, a balmy murmurment, That laps her in a sense of love, An idle sense of blank content:

Till down the quicken’d air comes pouring Ecstasy, rapture infinite! Her eyes flash open, wet and bright. “Oh! can you see Him in your soaring? Skylark! I wish He were in sight!