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THE BAPTISM.
Yet, lingering on those shores I staid, till every sound was hushed,
For hallowed musings o'er my soul, like spring-swollen rivers rushed.
'Tis better, said the Voice within, to bear a Christian's cross,
Than sell this fleeting life for gold, which Death shall prove but dross,
Far better, when yon shrivelled skies are like a banner furled,
To share in Christ's reproach, than gain the glory of the world.
