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NORAH NOHONE.
She pensively sitteth,
This Norah Nohone,
But she peevishly mourns not
The days that are gone;
There is hope in her heart,
Though I hear a low sigh;
As softly she murmurs,
"Joys brightened to fly."

When first her bark floated
O'er life's shining wave,
To one skilful Pilot
The rudder she gave:
He has guided her safely
Through tempest and calm;
When billows dashed round her
He shielded from harm.

Her lot has been woman's,
Her fate, that of all;
The light and the shadow,
The sunshine and pall;