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80

THE SPEEDWELL.

By footpath green or parched highway
It spreads its wreaths, and throws a ray
Of heavenly hope upon the day,
The heart beguiling;
“God speed thee, friend!” it seems to say
With countenance smiling.
So brightly blue its azure eye,
It looks like tiny bits of sky
Dropt from the sapphire throne on high,
Love's message-bearers—
Like angels round the path they lie
Of poor wayfarers;

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Who toiling onward with slow pace,
See at their feet a cheerful face
Upraised—reflecting Heaven's own grace—
And courage gather,
Unshaken confidence to place
In God their Father.
For He who arched yon azure sky,
And holds the golden sun on high,
In wayside flowers is no less nigh,
Their petals painting;
He made the stars—nor passes by
The weak and fainting.
As onward through the world we go,
May we too like the Speedwell throw
Around our path a genial glow
Of heart affection,
And by our gracious bearing show
Heaven's true reflection.

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Nor let us shun the dust and glare,
But bravely bear, and help to bear
Life's heat and burden anywhere
For God and Duty,
And men shall own the likeness fair
Of heavenly beauty.