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This goblet, wrought with curious art,
Are running all to waste.
And as it mantling passes round,
Above the lowly plants it towers,
Was gifted with the wondrous powers,
It gave new strength, and fearless mood;
Mingled it in their daily food;
And he who battled and subdued,
Then in Life's goblet freely press,
New light and strength they give!
And he who has not learned to know
How bitter are the drops of woe,
The prayer of Ajax was for light;
The blackness of that noonday night,
He asked but the return of sight,
To see his foeman's face.
THE GOBLET OF LIFE.
Let our unceasing, earnest prayer
Be, too, for light,—for strength to bear
One half the human race.
O suffering, sad humanity!
ye afflicted ones, who lie Steeped to the lips in misery, Longing, and yet afraid to die,
Patient, though sorely tried !
I pledge you in this cup of grief,
The Battle of our Life is brief,
The alarm, the struggle,-the relief,
Then sleep we side by side.
MAIDEN! with the meek, brown eyes,
In whose orbs a shadow lies
Like the dusk in evening skies!
Thou whose locks outshine the sun, Golden tresses, wreathed in one,
As the braided streamlets run!
Standing, with reluctant feet,