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[112] All day the sea-waves sobbed with sorrow,
     The birds forgot their merry trills:
All day I heard the pines lamenting
     With thine upon thy homestead hills.

Green be those hillside pines forever,
     And green the meadowy lowlands be,
And green the old memorial beeches,
     Name-carven in the woods of Lee!

Still let them greet thy life companions
     Who thither turn their pilgrim feet,
In every mossy line recalling
     A tender memory sadly sweet.

O friend! if thought and sense avail not
     To know thee henceforth as thou art,
That all is well with thee forever
     I trust the instincts of my heart.

Thine be the quiet habitations,
     Thine the green pastures, blossom-sown,
And smiles of saintly recognition,
     As sweet and tenders thy own.

Thou com'st not from the hush and shadow
     To meet us, but to thee we come,
With thee we never can be strangers,
     And where thou art must still be home.


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