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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,
Beckon thee to fields Elysian?
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,
May glides onward into June.
Childhood is the bough, where slumbered
Gather, then, each flower that grows,
Bear a lily in thy hand;
Gates of brass cannot withstand
One touch of that magic wand.
Bear through sorrow, wrong, and ruth,
In thy heart the dew of youth,
O, that dew, like balm, shall steal
And that smile, like sunshine, dart
Into many a sunless heart,
For a smile of God thou art.
THE shades of night were falling fast, As through an Alpine village passed A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and ice, A banner with the strange device Excelsior!
His brow was sad; his eye beneath, Flashed like a falchion from its sheath
And like a silver clarion rung
The accents of that unknown tongue, Excelsior!