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Sonnets and Other Poems

By John K. Ingram

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 I. 
I. TO THE READER.
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37

I. TO THE READER.

Brother, who glancest with a heedless eye
At these my strains, to thee they well may seem
To show but forms of a distemper'd dream,
So far from thoughts and hopes of thine they lie.
I know that they are fated soon to die;
But, if they live the common term of men,
And one who knows his time shall read them then,
He may perchance with sympathetic sigh
Thus muse or murmur—‘When our faith was young,
This man beheld and bless'd the dawning light,
And sang its triumph in no doubtful tone,
Though with a tuneless harp and stammering tongue.’
O well for me, if coming years shall write
Such words as these on my memorial stone!