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me down amid the race of life, And let the fever-spirit have its will. With wrench and screw the tissued nerves it tried, And held from sleep the strained and burning eye, So that the soft-voic'd watcher's toil was vain. Two weeks passed by, and then His healing love, Who knows the weakness of this mortal frame Which He hath fashioned, bade me take my place Again among the living. Strange and new Seemed every wonted object. All around Change had been busy. Boldly up had sprung, Even to the eaves, the rich Convolvolus, So long with patience water'd, even and morn, Its clustering floral bells, profoundly blue,