This is Palm Sunday: mindful of the day,
I bring palm branches, found upon my way:
But these will wither; thine shall never die,—
The sacred palms thou bearest to the sky!
Dear little saint, though but a child in years,
Older in wisdom than my gray compeers!
We doubt and tremble,—we, with bated breath,
Talk of this mystery of life and...
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Not all die early, dying young —
Maturity of Fate
Is consummated equally
In Ages, or a Night —
A Hoary Boy, I've known to drop
Whole statured — by the side
Of Junior of Fourscore — 'twas Act
Not Period — that died.