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They are complete: their work is done. So let

them sleep in endless rest. Love's life is only here begun, nor is, nor can be,

fully blest; It has no room to spread its wings, amid this crowd

of meaner things.

Just for the very shadow thrown upon its sweetness here below,

The cross that it must bear alone, and bloody baptism of woe,

Crowned and completed through its pain, we know that it shall rise again.

So if its flame burn pure and bright, here, where

our air is dark and dense, And nothing in this world of night lives with a

living so intense; When it shall reach its home at length—how bright

its light! how strong its strength!

And while the vain weak loves of earth (for such

base counterfeits abound) Shall perish with what gave them birth—their

graves are green and fresh around,

No funeral song shall need to rise, for the true Love that never dies.

If in my heart I now could fear that, risen again,

we should not know What was our Life of Life when here—the hearts

we loved so much below; I would arise this very day, and cast so poor a thing

away.

But Love is no such soulless clod: living, perfected

it shall rise Transfigured in the light of God, and giving glory

to the skies: And that which makes this life so sweet, shall render

Heaven's joy complete.

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A, WARNING.

LACE your hands in mine, dear,
With their rose-leaf touch:
If you heed my warning,
It will spare you much.

Ah! with just such smiling

Unbelieving eyes, Years ago I heard it:—

You shall be more wise.

You have one great treasure, Joy for all your life;
Do not let it perish In one reckless strife.

Do not venture all, child, In one frail, weak heart;
So, through any shipwreck, You may save a part.

Where your soul is tempted
Most to trust your fate,

There, with double caution,
Linger, fear, and wait.

Measure all you give—still
Counting what you take;

Love for love: so placing
Each an equal stake.

Treasure love; though ready
Still to live without.

In your fondest trust, keep
Just one thread of doubt.

Build on no to-morrow;

Love has but to-day: If the links seem slackening,

Cut the bond away.

Trust no prayer nor promise;

Words are grains of sand: To keep your heart unbroken,

Hold it in your hand.

That your love may finish

Calm as it begun, Learn this lesson better, •

Dear, than I have done.

Years hence, perhaps, this warning

You shall give again,
In just the self-same words, dear,

And—just as much—in vain.

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