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In Memoriam A.H.H.
The
time draws near the birth of Christ;
The moon is hid, the night is still;
A single church below the hill
Is
pealing, folded in the mist.
A
single peal of bells below,
That wakens at this hour of rest
A single murmur in the breast,
That
these are not the bells I know.
Like
strangers’ voices here they sound,
In lands where not a memory strays,
Nor landmark breathes of other days,
But
all is new unhallow’d ground.
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