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65

ACROSTIC.

Must all thine eloquence persuasive fail
Each heart to soften—o'er each sin prevail?
Love from thy tongue has caught a purer flame,
Vice still more hateful wears a blacker name.
In thy pure breast—a casket richly fraught—
Lie gems which sparkle with immortal thought;
Lo! round thy brow descending angels twine
Each early flower, their glories only thine.