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TO FRANK.
  
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TO FRANK.

'T is three years and something over
Since I looked upon you last,
But I only think about you
As I saw you in the past.
And when memory recalls you,
As she has done to-day,
You 're just as young, and just as small,
As when you went away.
I can see you hunt for flowers
In the meadows green and sweet,
Or go wading through the hollows,
With your little naked feet;—
Or peeping through the bushes
That hedged the garden round,
To see if any little birds
Were in the nest you 'd found.
And I know how in the clover,
Where the bees were used to come,
You held them down beneath your hat,
To hear their pleasant hum.
And how in summer evenings,
Through the door-yard wet with dew,
The watch-dog led you many a chase,—
He 's growing older too!

451

I know when on the dear old porch
We coaxed you first to walk,
And treasured every word you said
When you began to talk.
We asked you what you meant to be,
And laughed at your replies,
Because you said, when you grew up
To manhood, you'd be wise.
And may you pray the God of love,
And I will pray him too,
To make you wise in every thing
That makes man good and true!