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EVERYWHERE, - everywhere, —

Like the butterfly's silver wings, That are seen by all in the summer air,

We meet with these beautiful things ! And the low, sweet lisp of the baby child

By a thousand hills is heard, And the voice of the young heart's laughter, wild

As the voice of a singing bird !

The cradle rocks in the peasant's cot

As it rocks in the noble’s hall,
And the brightest gift in the loftiest lot,

Is a gift that is given to all ;

For the sunny light of childhood's eyes

Is a boon like the common air, And, like the sunshine of the skies,

It falleth everywhere!

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They tell us this old earth no more

By angel feet is trod, -
They bring not now, as they brought of yore,

The oracles of God.
O, each of these young human flowers

God's own high message rs,
And we are walking all our hours

With “ angels, unawares ” !

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By stifling street and breezy hill

We meet their spirit mirth :
That such bright shapes should linger till

They take the stains of earth!
O, play not those a blessed part

To whom the boon is given,
To leave their errand with the heart,

And straight return to Heaven !


ERE last year's moon had left the sky,

A birdling sought my Indian nest, And folded, O so lovingly!

Her tiny wings upon my breast.

From morn till evening's purple tinge,

In winsome helplessness she lies; Two rose-leaves with a silken fringe,

Shut softly on her starry eyes.

There's not in Ind a lovelier bird,

Broad earth owns not a happier nest ; O God, thou hast a fountain stirred,

Whose waters never more may rest !

This beautiful, mysterious thing,

This seeming visitant from Heaven, This bird with the immortal wing,

To me, — to me thy hand hath given.

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