of tweedsmuir.
The stir of life, in that sweet solitude.
For hearts beat there, whose voice of joy will rise,
With a soft cadence, to the ambient skies,
As life's emotions thrill through many a heart,
That in that life's vain struggle bears no part,
But lives and gushes forth its own sweet song,
Pleased with the little world it moves among;
Contented ever, that its daily strife
Is all-consistent with our checkered life.
Now let my thoughts return to days of yore,
And scenes I love to picture o'er and o'er;
May those who, with me, worship nature's spell,
Say to this sunny "Tweedsmuir," Fare-thee-well!
For hearts beat there, whose voice of joy will rise,
With a soft cadence, to the ambient skies,
As life's emotions thrill through many a heart,
That in that life's vain struggle bears no part,
But lives and gushes forth its own sweet song,
Pleased with the little world it moves among;
Contented ever, that its daily strife
Is all-consistent with our checkered life.
Now let my thoughts return to days of yore,
And scenes I love to picture o'er and o'er;
May those who, with me, worship nature's spell,
Say to this sunny "Tweedsmuir," Fare-thee-well!
THE END.
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