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Forgiveness.

my heart was heavy, for its trust had been
     Abused, its kindness answered with foul wrong;
So, turning gloomily from my fellow-men,
     One summer Sabbath day I strolled among
The green mounds of the village burial-place;
     Where, pondering how all human love and hate
Find one sad level; and how, soon or late,
     Wronged and wrongdoer, each with meekened face,
And cold hands folded over a still heart,
     Pass the green threshold of our common grave,
Whither all footsteps tend, whence none depart,
     Awed for myself, and pitying my race,
Our common sorrow, like a mighty wave,
     Swept all my pride away, and trembling I forgave

1846.

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1846 AD (1)
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