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Life amid death. Yea, life is there, Young life, amid those silent dead, Who hear not now the voice and tread That break but seldom on the air,
Nor hear the two whose footsteps part The tarnished gold of autumn days, Who, winding down the winding ways, Come, hand to hand and heart to heart.
IV Fair laughs the sunlight from above: Hoeart unto heart and hand to hand They come: today they understand: They love: it is enough: they love.
‘Tis their first day of sympathy, Of conscious union and trust; They do but love because they must; They know not and they care not why.