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The Mower. (From The Villager's Verse-Book.)
by William Lisle BowlesHark to the mower's whistling blade!
How steadily he mows!
The grass is heaped, the daisies fade,
All scattered as he goes.
The flowers of life may bloom and fade,
But He in whom I trust,
Though cold and in my grave-clothes laid,
Can raise me from the dust.