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His Books

 MY days among the Dead are past; 
 Around me I behold, 
Where'er these casual eyes are cast, 
 The mighty minds of old: 
My never-failing friends are they, 
With whom I converse day by day.
With them I take delight in weal And seek relief in woe; And while I understand and feel How much to them I owe, My cheeks have often been bedew'd With tears of thoughtful gratitude.
My thoughts are with the Dead; with them I live in long-past years, Their virtues love, their faults condemn, Partake their hopes and fears; And from their lessons seek and find Instruction with an humble mind.
My hopes are with the Dead; anon My place with them will be, And I with them shall travel on Through all Futurity; Yet leaving here a name, I trust, That will not perish in the dust.

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