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ANCHORED.

JUST below the bar a ship at anchor rides,

Falling with the ebb and rising with the flow,

Waiting for the wind impatiently it chides,

Tugging at its chain, if but the night breeze blow.

Like a lingering ship yearning for the main,

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Falling with the ebb and rising with the flow,

Moans my restless heart impetuous in vain,

Longing for some breeze to bear it from its woe.

F. A. T.

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