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XXI.
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THE FIRST LESSON.
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Not in this world to see his face
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Sounds long, until I read the place
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Where this is said to be
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But just the primer to a life
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Unopened, rare, upon the shelf,
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Clasped yet to him and me.
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And yet, my primer suits me so
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I would not choose a book to know
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Than that, be sweeter wise;
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Might some one else so learned be,
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And leave me just my A B C,
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Himself could have the skies.
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XXII.
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The bustle in a house
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The morning after death
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Is solemnest of industries
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Enacted upon earth, --
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The sweeping up the heart,
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And putting love away
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We shall not want to use again
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Until eternity.
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XXIII.
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I reason, earth is short,
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And anguish absolute,
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And many hurt;
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But what of that?
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I reason, we could die:
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The best vitality
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Cannot excel decay;
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But what of that?
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I reason that in heaven
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Somehow, it will be even,
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Some new equation given;
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But what of that?
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XXIV.
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Afraid? Of whom am I afraid?
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Not death; for who is he?
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The porter of my father's lodge
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As much abasheth me.
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Of life? 'T were odd I fear a thing
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That comprehendeth me
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In one or more existences
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At Deity's decree.
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Of resurrection? Is the east
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Afraid to trust the morn
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With her fastidious forehead?
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As soon impeach my crown!
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XXV.
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DYING.
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The sun kept setting, setting still;
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No hue of afternoon
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Upon the village I perceived, --
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From house to house 't was noon.
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The dusk kept dropping, dropping still;
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No dew upon the grass,
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But only on my forehead stopped,
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And wandered in my face.
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My feet kept drowsing, drowsing still,
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My fingers were awake;
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Yet why so little sound myself
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Unto my seeming make?
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