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"I have turn'd from my first pure love aside,
O bright rejoicing streams!
Light after light in my soul have died
The early glorious dreams!
"And the holy prayer from my thoughts hath pass'd,
The prayer at my mother's knee—
Darken'd and troubled I come at last,
Thou home of my boyish glee!
"But I bear from my childhood a gift of tears
To soften and atone;
And, O ye scenes of those blessed years!
They shall make me again your own."
