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From the painting," The Last Prayer," by Gerome.

THE NEW YORK PUBLIC LIBRARY

ASTCE LEN X

THE WANDERER.

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THE

THE WANDERER.

HE gleam of household sunshine ends,
And here no longer can I rest.

Farewell! You will not speak, my friends,
Unkindly of your parted guest.

Oh, well for him that finds a friend,
Or makes a friend, where'er he come,
And loves the world from end to end,
And wanders on from home to home!

Oh, happy he, and fit to live,“
On whom a happy home has power
To make him trust his life, and give
His fealty to the halcyon hour!

I count you kind, I hold you true;
But what may follow, who can tell?
Give me a hand-and you— and you-
And deem me grateful — and farewell!

ALFRED TENNYSON.

INDEX OF FIRST LINES.

A crowded life, where joy perennial starts.

"Allah, Allah!" cried the sick man, racked with pain
A man said unto his angel

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A man there came, whence none can tell
Amid the verdure on the prairies wide.
And if his church be doubtful, it is sure
And if there be no meeting past the grave
And when the wind in the tree-tops roared
Angel of Pain, I think thy face

Angels of Growth, of old in that surprise

An idle man I stroll at eve.

A scrap of sky.

A shell upon the sounding sands

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A single star, how bright

As Life's unending column pours

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As one who in the hush of twilight hears

As we wax older on this earth

As, when the snow still on the bough is clinging
A thoughtful life is a pleasant life

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At the midnight, in the silence of the sleep-time
Aye, but to die and go we know not where
Because I hold it sinful to despond .
Below the surface stream, shallow and light
Beneath this starry arch

Blame not the times in which we live

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Blest is the man whose heart and hands are pure!
Brown heads and gold around my knee

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