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[50] The hard and thorny path they kept
     From beauty turned aside;
Nor missed they over those who slept
     The grace to life denied.

Yet still the wilding flowers would blow,
     The golden leaves would fall,
The seasons come, the seasons go,
     And God be good to all.

Above the graves the blackberry hung
     In bloom and green its wreath,
And harebells swung as if they rung
     The chimes of peace beneath.

The beauty Nature loves to share,
     The gifts she hath for all,
The common light, the common air,
     O'ercrept the graveyard's wall.

It knew the glow of eventide,
     The sunrise and the noon,
And glorified and sanctified
     It slept beneath the moon.

With flowers or snow-flakes for its sod,
     Around the seasons ran,
And evermore the love of God
     Rebuked the fear of man.

We dwell with fears on either hand,
     Within a daily strife,
And spectral problems waiting stand
     Before the gates of life.

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