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In some lone walk through sunburnt fields,

By sandy path and dusty road,

Hast thou not cast thine eyes abroad,

Seen afar off a water'd scene,

A grove of deep and tender green,

And found a river flows between?

There is a stream whose waves divide

Life from the shady shores beyond;

And we on this sad side are found,

Toiling on sandy flats, I ween,

Sighs our one moisture, tears our sheen,

While the still river flows between.

And yet, when our belovéd rise

To gird them for the ford, and pass

From wilderness to springing grass,

From barren waste to living green,

We weep that they no more are seen,

And that the river flows between.

Ah, could we follow where they go

And pierce the holy shade they find,

One grief were ours--to stay behind!

One hope--to join the Blest Unseen,--

To plant our steps where theirs have been,

And find no river flows between!

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