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THE CHEERFUL GIVER. 97
The harp-strings ran a thrilling strain and broke, And that young mother lay upon the earth In childless agony.
Again the voice That stirr'd her vision.
" He who asked of thee, Loveth a cheerful giver."
So she rais'd
Her gushing eye, and, ere the tear-drop dried Upon its fringes, smiled.
Doubt not that smile, Like Abraham's faith, was counted righteousness.
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