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Tis she that walks before us day by day
Who wooed us in our early infancy,
In shining robes as fair, as fair could be,
Enchanting us with an harmonious lay.
When later on we saw the alluring fay,
Her voice resounded, if less merrily,
With sweeter far and truer melody,
While no less beautiful was her array.
HOPE leadeth still; her path and ours are one;
No nearer her we come, no farther go;
Old age is fain to grasp her pure, white hand;
For dimming eyes gaze wistfully--but lo!
Just as our earthly pilgrimage is done,
Her shadow falls upon the unknown land.