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 Then the young girl knelt beside him, kissed his trembling hand, and cried:
“Oh, forbear to chide my father; in that faith my mother died!
On her wooden cross at Simcoe the dews and sunshine fall,
As they fall on Spurwink's graveyard; and the dear God watches all! “
The old man stroked the fair head that rested on his knee;
‘Your words, dear child,’ he answered, “are God's rebuke to me.
Creed and rite perchance may differ, yet our faith and hope be one.
Let me be your father's father, let him be to me a son. “
When the horn, on Sabbath morning, through the still and frosty air,
From Spurwink, Pool, and Black Point, called to sermon and to prayer,
To the goodly house of worship, where, in order due and fit,
As by public vote directed, classed and ranked the people sit;
Mistress first and goodwife after, clerkly squire before the clown,
From the brave coat, lace-embroidered, to the gray frock, shading down;
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