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2

The world's cold winds must come not there
Where flowers of Paradise unfold;
No cheerless doubts, no wildering care,
No mammon worship dark and old.

For there doth Wisdom keep his hoard,
And Fancy revel clear and bright;
With every noble feeling stored,
That inward world is all of light.

For nature's hymn is singing there,
For ever solemn, ever sweet;
And, faraway, the clouds of care
Refuse those joyous strains to meet.

Then guard the Poet's sacred gift,
Through every change—in every scene—
O'er life's dull cares thy heart to lift
To faith sublime, to hope serene!

And strike in holy trust thy lyre—
For day by day, and year by year,
The notes shall thrill with purer fire,
"And sweeter music charm thine ear."