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Gazing, with a timid glance,
On the brooklet's swift advance,
Deep and still, that gliding stream
Then why pause with indecision,
Seest thou shadows sailing by,
Hearest thou voices on the shore,
O, thou child of many prayers!
Life hath quicksands,-Life hath snares!
Like the swell of some sweet tune,
Morning rises into noon,
Childhood is the bough, where slumbered
Gather, then, each flower that grows,
Bear a lily in thy hand;
Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth,
In thy heart the dew of youth,
On thy lips the smile of truth.
O, that dew, like balm, shall steal
And that smile, like sunshine, dart
For a smile of God thou art.
THE shades of night were falling fast,
His brow was sad; his eye beneath,
And like a silver clarion rung
The accents of that unknown tongue,
In happy homes he saw the light
Of household fires gleam warm and bright;
Above, the spectral glaciers shone,
"Try not the Pass!" the old man said;
"O stay," the maiden said, "and rest
"Beware the pine-tree's withered branch!
Beware the awful avalanche!"