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POEMS.
The birds upspring on Hope's swift wing,
While the glad heart joins in their carolling;
So lovely and fair to the gaze is the view,
The words seem just spoken, "I make all things new."

Yon gallant ship, with her sails washed white,
Like a conqueror rides as she gleams on our sight,
So the soul, I think, with a faith sublime,
May triumph and smile o'er the tempests of time.




HOW DO I THINK OF THEE?
As the thirsty pilgrim thinks of the sparkling fountain;
As the tempest-tossed mariner thinks of some fixed star;
As the gardener thinks of some pleasant flower;
As the pure white lily thinks of the diamond dew;
As the weary wanderer in a foreign land thinks of his far-off home.