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THE LONELY GRAVE.
Because he sleeps beneath the alien sod,Her race in fuller sunlight answers God.Oh, sweet the bosky dell in sun and shower;Sweet the low wind that creeps from flower to flower!Oh, sweet, sweet, sweet these roses of the South,The breath of the rain-lilies' honeyed mouth;Sweet the bird's song across the lonely grave,But sweeter still the blessings of the slave!
