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In Memoriam A.H.H.

         
            CIV.
             
      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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