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“Life had been long astir in the village, and clamorous labor
Knocked with its hundred hands at the golden gates of the morning.”
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“Sadly echoed her step on the stair and the chamber.
In the dead of the night she heard the whispering rain fall
Loud on the withered leaves of the sycamore tree by the window.
Keenly the lightning flashed, and the voice of the neighboring thunder
Told her that God was in heaven, and governed the world he created.”
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