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 Sounding the summer night, the stars
Dropped down their golden plummets;
The pale arc of the Northern lights
Rose o'er the mountain summits,
Until, at last, beneath its bridge,
We heard the Bearcamp flowing,
And saw across the mapled lawn
The welcome home-lights glowing.
And, musing on the tale I heard,
Twere well, thought I, if often
To rugged farm-life came the gift
To harmonize and soften;
If more and more we found the troth
Of fact and fancy plighted,
And culture's charm and labor's strength
In rural homes united,—
The simple life, the homely hearth,
With beauty's sphere surrounding,
And blessing toil where toil abounds
With graces more abounding.
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