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CONSOLATION.
And when I looked on him, I saw he spoke what he believed,
And I talked no more of grief to him who ne'er himself had grieved,

Or he had known that spoke of Will, how vain its strong control
When Deep is calling unto Deep within the wave-tost soul;
Yea! happy are they that endure! yet never was the tide
Of nature's agony stemmed back by high, o'ermastering Pride;

But then with kindlier mien, one said, "Go forth unto the fields,
For there, and in the woods, are balms that nature freely yields;
Let Nature take thee to her heart! she hath a bounteous breast
That yearns o'er all her sorrowing sons, and She will give thee rest."

But Nature on the spirit-sick as on the spirit-free
Smiled, like a fair unloving face too bright for sympathy;
Sweet, ever sweet, are whispering leaves, are waters in their flow.
But never on them breathed a tone to comfort human woe!