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F. C. SLATER.
63
And men and nations hast thou seen
Flourish awhile and have their day—
Like Spring's frail flow'rs they pass away,
And leave no trace of having been.
But thou remainest: changeless still,
Patient and peaceful, while above
The glad sky smiles on thee with love—
And thou art blest, O lonely hill!
F. C. Slater.
