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A WHIM.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
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356

A WHIM.

Country girl from country corner,
Where the customs never change;
And the muffled face of mourner
Even is a feature strange;
Where the world rolls on for ever,
Slowly, as it did at first,
Nor do slaves their bondage sever,
And for higher freedom thirst;
Where the carter tends his horses,
As he tended them for years,
And the clouds upon their courses
Mingle with the sun their tears;
Where, when summer comes, the swallow
Builds its nest below the eaves,
And the autumn tints that follow
Lay a glory on the leaves;
Where the son lives, as his fathers,
On the crop the pasture yields,
And the same dull harvest gathers
From the same dull harvest fields;
Just a child, who, from the cottage,
Drest in her first woman's gown,
Dared to leave her mess of pottage,
For a visit to the Town.
Dazzled with the glare and glamour
Of a thousand thrilling sights,
Deafened by the wheeléd clamour
Never ceasing in the nights;
Lured to many foolish fancies,
Off the beaten track of things,
Doors that seemed to ope romances,
With the sweep of angel wings;
Cheated by the charm so novel,
Lifting her above the gray
Lights, that seemed to gloom and grovel,
On the old familiar way;
To temptation's plea she harkened,
Held by rapture of its voice,
Saw not how destruction darkened,
On the fair and fatal choice;
Heard not whispered words of chiding,
From the splendid flush of flower
Over the great gulf, dividing
Her from purity and power;
To her ruin lightly hasted,
In a maiden's idle whim,
And in one short moment wasted
Grace her God prepared for Him.