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[39] No paling of the cheek of bloom
     Forewarned us of decay;
No shadow from the Silent Land
     Fell round our sister's way.

The light of her young life went down,
     As sinks behind the hill
The glory of a setting star,
     Clear, suddenly, and still.

As pure and sweet, her fair brow seemed
     Eternal as the sky;
And like the brook's low song, her voice,—
     A sound which could not die.

And half we deemed she needed not
     The changing of her sphere,
To give to Heaven a Shining One,
     Who walked an Angel here.

The blessing of her quiet life
     Fell on us like the dew;
And good thoughts where her footsteps pressed
     Like fairy blossoms grew.

Sweet promptings unto kindest deeds
     Were in her very look;
We read her face, as one who reads
     A true and holy book:

The measure of a blessed hymn,
     To which our hearts could move;

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