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7/7/1 11UULAT10A 



In the sweet old-fashioned garden 



Each paving-stone moss grown 

 Each tiny shrub or flow'ring tree, 



Has a story all its own ; 

 Some mem'ry of the child-life 



Spent in that garden fair, 

 With the faint, sweet, haunting echo 



Of its laughter ling'ring there. 



Where the ivy and the roses 



Clamber up beside the well, 

 Within its cool, sweet shadow 



Love did first his story tell. 

 Twas there, with youthful blushes, 



His whispered hope she heard, 

 And ere the vines were withered 



There gave her plighted word. 



