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THE LOST DARLING.
Gone to God!
And yet I wish I had not seen the pang
That wrung her features, nor the ghastly white
Settling around her lips. I would that Heaven
Had taken its own, like some transplanted flower,
Blooming in all its freshness.
Gone to God!
Be still my heart! what could a mother's prayer,
In all the wildest extacy of hope,
Ask for its darling like the bliss of heaven?
