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Show THE OLD HOUSE. My little birds, with backs as brown As sand, and throats as white as frost, I've searched the summer up and down, And think the other birds have lost The tones you sang, so sweet, so low About the old house, long ago. My little flowers, that with your bloom So hid the grass you grew upon, A child's foot scarce had any room Between you are you dead and gone? I've searched through fields and gardens fare Nor found your likeness anywhere. My little hearts, that beat so high With love to God, and trust to man, Oh, come to me, and say if I But dream, or was I dreaming then, What time we sat within the glow Of the old house hearth, long ago? My little hearts, so fond, so true, I searched the world all far and wide, And never found the like of you: God grant we meet the other side The darkness 'twixt us now that stands, In that new house not made with hands. |