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by Jessie Belle Rittenhouse

Now I can sing of happy things
And let the sad world go its way,
Since you have spoken words that turn
The night to day.

Now I can sow beside all streams
And care not if another reap,
Since all that I would garner here
Is mine to keep.

Now I can scatter joy about
Like green young leaves that fall in spring,
Because the tree is all too rich
In bourgeoning!

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