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THE DEPARTED FRIEND

And thou art gone, whose sympathy made days
Of nervous dread and silent agony
Into thank-offerings of prayer and praise
For one kind friend, one who was kind to me!
Oh, you may think it was the daily acts
Of thoughtfulness, all for my comfort done!
Often the setting its bright jewel lacks,
A hollow thing when sympathy is gone
Is the cold deed—that lifeless ministry
That freezes all the springs of hope in me,
Think not I have forgotten one who cares.


THE RED LINNET

In Spring, when the roses are loaded with buds,
And the oak-tree has put on her new leafy dress,
When the hill-slope, just washed in the late wintry floods,
Is spread with a carpet of blossom-starred grass;

Where sweet baby-blue eyes peep up to the light,
And sun-drops lie just as they dropped from the sun,
And the tea-flowers lift up their wee blossoms of white
By the shooting stars, saucy and ready for fun;

Then comes the red linnet, so joyous and gay,
To build and to brood in the oak's scattered shade,
And sing his sweet ballads on trellis and spray
Till joy bounds ecstatic o'er meadow and glade.

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