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Mourn not thy dead, although they may have shone
With fondest radiance on thy lessening years,
Nor sink appalled before the fatal shears
That bid thy treasured ones to leave thee lone.
Mourn not the seed thy hands have left unsown,
That might have joyed in golden-gloried ears;
Nor mourn thine evil hours, thy craven fears,
Nor fortune's favors which thou couldst not own.
All these are gone, nor canst thou call them back,
Though on their far-receding, darksome track
The voice of every grief were joined with thine.
Then seize, new-hearted, on the living Now,
And march straightforward, with unshaken vow,
Beneath Hope's gladdening, promise-blazoned sign.