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MY CHRISTIAN NAME.
Grope ignorant still—thou dost its secrets know,
Amiel, Amiel.
Amiel, Amiel.
What if, thus sitting where we sat last year,
Thou earnest, took'st up our broken thread of talk,
And told'st of that new Home, which far I view,
As children, wandering on through wintry fields,
Mark on the hill the father's window shine,
Amiel, Amiel?
Thou earnest, took'st up our broken thread of talk,
And told'st of that new Home, which far I view,
As children, wandering on through wintry fields,
Mark on the hill the father's window shine,
Amiel, Amiel?
No. We shall see thy pleasant face no more;
Thy words on earth are ended. Yet thou livest;
'T is we who die.—I too, one day shall come,
And, unseen, watch these shadows, quiet-eyed—
Then flit back to thy land, the living land,
Amiel, Amiel.
Thy words on earth are ended. Yet thou livest;
'T is we who die.—I too, one day shall come,
And, unseen, watch these shadows, quiet-eyed—
Then flit back to thy land, the living land,
Amiel, Amiel.
MY CHRISTIAN NAME.