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[131] Yet shall the blue-eyed gentian look
     Through fringed lids to heaven,
And the pale aster in the brook
     Shall see its image given;–

The woods shall wear their robes of praise.
     The south-wind softly sigh,
And sweet, calm days in golden haze
     Melt down the amber sky.

Not less shall manly deed and word
     Rebuke an age of wrong;
The graven flowers that wreathe the sword
     Make not the blade less strong.

But smiting hands shall learn to heal,—
     To build as to destroy;
Nor less my heart for others feel
     That I the more enjoy.

All as God wills, who wisely heeds
     To give or to withhold,
And knoweth more of all my reeds
     Than all my prayers have told!

Enough that blessings undeserved
     Have marked my erring track;
That wheresoe'er my feet have swerved,
     His chastening turned me back;

That more and more a Providence
     Of love is understood,

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