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8
Monday Morning
The night is fled; – Earth from its slumbers waking
Puts on her robes of with joy & beauty bright,
And the proud him, his golden tresses shaking
Fills all the world with youth, – & life – & light.
In nature's mighty temple, countless voices
The glorious dome with early offerings fill;
In its new strength the lusty morning rejoices
And wakes Summoning calls its dormant tenants – 'Wake my Spirit.'
The golden hours of memory The days-break now with natural music sings
Now to thy toils again – again inherit
out
The ruddy health that busy labor brings.
The smiling path of duty smiling lies before thee
Around Thee thousand gentle thirsts welcoming greet:
The generous light of heaven is sparkling o'er thee
And gems & flowers are scattered at thy feet
Thou art but dust – an atom in creation
Like morning dew – soon dissipated – gone.
Identifier: | JB/110/241/001 "JB/" can not be assigned to a declared number type with value 110.
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110 |
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241 |
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001 |
monday morning |
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collectanea |
2 |
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recto |
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sir john bowring |
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36231 |
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