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Why, as we near the Falls of Death,
Feel we its tide more rapid?

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Time's course to slower speeding,

When one by one our friends have gone
And left our bosoms bleeding?

Heaven gives our years of fading strength
Indemnifying fleetness;

And those of youth a seeming length,
Proportioned to their sweetness.

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G

ATHER ye rosebuds as ye may,
Old Time is still a flying;

And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying.

The glorious lamp of heaven, the sun,
The higher he 's a getting
The sooner will his race be run,
And nearer he 's to setting.

The age

is best which is the first,

When youth and blood are warmer ; But being spent, the worse and worst Time still succeed the former.

Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may go marry ;
For, having lost but once your prime,
You may forever tarry.

And make their bed with thee. As Of ages glide away, the sons of me: The youth in life's green spring, an In the full strength of years, matro And the sweet babe, and the grayShall, one by one, be gathered to th By those who in their turn shall fol

So live, that when thy summons The innumerable caravan that move To the pale realms of shade, where His chamber in the silent halls of Thou go not, like the quarry-slave a Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustai By an unfaltering trust, approach th Like one who wraps the drapery of About him, and lies down to pleasa

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Spurned by the young, but hugged by the old,
To the very verge of the churchyard mould;
Price of many a crime untold:
Gold gold gold! gold!

Good or bad a thousand-fold!

How widely its agencies vary,

-

To save, to ruin, to curse, to bless,

As even its minted coins express,

Now stamped with the image of good Queen Bess, And now of a Bloody Mary.

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WHO

A HUNDRED YEARS TO COME.

HO 'll press for gold this crowded street,
A hundred years to come?

Who'll tread yon church with willing feet,
A hundred years to come?

Pale, trembling age and fiery youth,

And childhood with his brow of truth,
The rich and poor, on land, on sea,

Where will the mighty millions be,
A hundred years to come?

We all within our graves shall sleep.
A hundred years to come;
No living soul for us will weep,
A hundred years to come.
But other men our land will till,
And others then our streets will fill,
And other words will sing as gay,
And bright the sunshine as to-day,

A hundred years to come.

O the flutter of the fuss! To begin with Cain and Abel, And to finish up with us.

Think of all the men and wom Who are now and who have Every nation since creation. That this world of ours has And of all of them, not any But was once a baby small; While of children, O, how man Never have grown up at all!

Some have never laughed or sp Never used their rosy feet; Some have even flown to heave Ere they knew that earth wa And indeed I wonder whether, If we reckon every birth, And bring such a flock together There is room for them on ea

Who will wash their smiling fa Who their saucy ears will bo Who will dress them and caress Who will darn their little so Where are arms enough to hold Hands to pat each shining he

Who will praise them? who will scold them? Who will pack them off to bed?

Little happy Christian children,
Little savage children too,
In all stages of all ages

That our planet ever knew!
Little princes and princesses,
Little beggars wan and faint;
Some in very handsome dresses,
Naked some, bedaubed with paint.

Only think of the confusion

Such a motley crowd would make! And the clatter of their chatter,

And the things that they would break!

O the babble of the Babel!

O the flutter of the fuss! To begin with Cain and Abel, And to finish up with us!

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TE

In the season of our life;

There are wild despairing moments;
There are hours of mental strife.
There are hours of stony anguish,
When the tears refuse to fall;
But the waiting time, my brothers,
Is the hardest time of all.

Youth and love are oft impatient,

Seeking things beyond their reach;

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