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EMERSON.

AH, master! art thou gone?

Then Beauty's lonely left;

Truth widowed and bereft

In weeds now walks alone.

Nay, nay, he is not gone,

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Nor Beauty lonely left,

Nor is God's Truth bereft;

True work for aye goes on.

Since this great soul has been

The mountain grander towers,

The river's rush o'erpowers,

And Nature dwells with men;

The songs of birds are sweeter,

And e'en the sunshine brighter,

Life's burdens all are lighter,

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