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Yet, sometimes, when the secret cup
- Thou soul of God's best earthly mould !
Two APRIL MORNINGS.
We walked along, while bright and red
A village Schoolmaster was he,
And on that morning, through the grass,
« Our work," said I, was well begun;
A second time did Matthew stop;
“ Yon cloud with that long purple cleft
“ And just above yon slope of corn
“ With rod and line my silent sport
" Nine summers had she scarcely seen,
“Six feet in earth my Emma lay;
“ And turning from her grave, I met
" A basket on her head she bare ;
“ No fountain from its rocky cave
“ There came from me a sigh of pain Which I could iil confine ; I looked at her and looked again :
-And did not wish her mine." Matthew is in his grave, yet now Methinks I see him stand, As at that moment, with his bough Of wilding in his hand.