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THE BROOK THAT RAN INTO THE SEA.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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THE BROOK THAT RAN INTO THE SEA.

“Oh, little brook,” the children said,
“The sea has waves enough;
Why hurry down your mossy bed
To meet his welcome rough?
“The Hudson or the Oregon
May help his tides to swell:

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But when your few bright drops are gone,
What has he gained, pray tell?”
“I run for pleasure,” said the brook,
Still running, running fast;
“I love to see you bend and look,
As I go bubbling past.
“I love to feel the wild weeds dip;
I love your fingers light,
That dimpling from my eddies drip,
Filled with my pebbles bright.
“My own mysterious life I love,
Its shadow and its shine;
And all sweet voices that above
Make melody with mine.
“But most I love the mighty Voice
Which calls me, draws me so,
That every ripple lisps, ‘Rejoice!’
As with a laugh I go.
“My drop of freshness to the Sea
In music trickles on:
Nor grander could my welcome be
Were I an Amazon.
“And if his moaning waves can feel
My sweetness near the shore,
Even to his heart the thrill may steal:—
What could I wish for, more?
“The largest soul to take love in
Knows how to give love best;
So peacefully my tinkling din
Dies on the great Sea's breast.
“One heart encircles all that live,
And blesses great and small;
And meet it is that each should give
His little to the All.”