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Written for Moore's Rural New-Yoker. 
SHADOWS. 
BT OLOFVE VOX KOP.TLANDT. 
Dreaming 'midst the twilight 
Of the year— 
Sighing for a smile-light 
fond and dear: 
Mourning one departed 
In youth's glow— 
Lightsome and pnre-hearted 
Like the snow : 
Aching for the brightness 
Vanished—lied— 
With the spirit's lightness 
Of the dead: 
Lingering, sad and lonely, 
On Time's shore— 
Hearing one voice only 
Evermore: 
Passion's sweet embraces, 
In their might, 
Clasping only traces 
Of delight: 
Doubting if a clearer 
Light above 
Could e'er draw ns nearer 
In onr love. 
Waning is the twilight 
Of the year— 
Ever has the smile-light 
Left me drear. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
ECONOMY. 
“ Economical indeed!” said widow Weath- 
erbee, while her cap strings fluttered with indig¬ 
nation. “There is not such another extrava¬ 
gant family for miles around as that Fielding 
family. One of Mrs. Fielding's dresses costs as 
much as three of mine. There is her new 
French merino never cost less than two or three 
dollars a yard, and she could have gotten a good 
cotton and wool delaine for fifty cents; then her 
bonnet is real Leghorn, and the milliner at the 
corners told me that it cost nine dollars-the 
bare bonnet—and the ribbon for the trimming 
was ten shillings a yard, while my shirred silk 
was only seven dollars, and will last me a year. 
Then the foolish set thought they must have a 
sewing machine, and that cost a hundred or two 
dollars, and the music painting and drawing that 
that family pay for learning, is more than I can 
reckon, to 6uy nothing about their piano; then 
there is the books and papers they take by the 
year—enough for a regiment of soldiers. Some 
people would have taken the money, and put it 
in the bank for a rainy day, instead of spending, 
it so foolishly.” 
“They doubtless think their money well in¬ 
vested,” said Mrs. Grey, whos<* previous asser¬ 
tions had caused the widow to express herself so 
freely. “They could tell you that they do not 
always consider it the '.test economy ,to buy 
those articles which can be bought for fhe least 
money. Mrs. Fielding’s merino dress will out¬ 
last a common delaine by at least two years ser¬ 
vice; the expensive bonnet will do over for 
mauy seasons aud still be good; and I think a 
month's experience with a sewing machine, 
would convince you that they soon pay their 
cost iu the saving of time and labor; and as for 
the books and papers, Mr. Flei.ding is repaid 
a thousand fold, iu knowing that his family arc 
growing up well informed and intelligent; while 
every dollar invested for music, painting andthe 
like,"yields him a handsome profit, by cultiva¬ 
ting in each member of the family a taste for 
those things which have a tendency to elevate 
and ennoble—by rendering home attractive and 
affording those pleasures at home, they would 
be likely to seek elsewhere, and thereby become 
exposed to temptations without number. Do 
you suppose that Mr. Appleton’s son would 
have proved the miserable creature that he is if 
hie father had expended a few dollars of his 
abundant means to afford the unfortunate boy 
some advantages to improve his mind and heart ? 
He no doubt regrets that he did not devote a 
portion of it for the boy’s improvement, instead 
of striving to amass property which iris dwarfed 
capacities will not permit him to enjoy. 
“Do you think that Mr. Howe’s daughter 
would have been as likely to have grown weary 
of home and plangcd into the follies and ex¬ 
cesses of fashions'bie life, and ended by running 
Off with, a worthless adventurer, it there had 
been anything about her home pleasing and at¬ 
tractive to draw her within its charmed circle V 
People may be 4 penny wise aud pound foolish.’ 
There is that which soattereth aud yet inereas- 
eth, and there is that which withholdeth and is 
nothing profited.” 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
WHAT MRS. SOMEBODY SAYS. 
If I was a man, I’d be a man: that I would. 
If I was poor, aud had a family dependent on my 
daily labor for support, and was deep in debt in 
the bargain, do you suppose I would sit in the 
chimney corner because it was a little cold, or 
tho wind played u few mad pranks with the 
snow, or I’d had a crick in my hack sometime, 
and feared I might have again? If my back was 
a wee Lit lame, do you suppose I’d curl down 
somewhere and say 1 could not do anything, we 
should have fo go to the poor house : especially 
if I could eat ft goodly portiou of what was set 
before me, and sleep all night, aud part of the 
day, too, so sound that. I did not know whether 
I had a back or not ? No, sir, that I wouldn’t. 
“ 0 yes,” says Mr. (what shall I call him,) “you 
can talk; but you don’t know anything about 
it.” Don’t I though ? And »o do all poor women; 
every mother's daughter of them, toil, toil, toil, 
from morning till late at night to keep the dirt 
out, and the elbows and toes in. No matter for 
side, hack, or headache, lameness and weariness; 
the work must be done, and we must do it. Don’t 
tell us we don’t know. 
If I was a great strapping man, and had a wee 
bit of a wife that worked as hard as she could, 
outdoors as well as in, aud everything did not-go 
exactly straight, do you suppose I'd grumble 
about it, and lay a great load of blame on her 
shoulders to bear, when I was as much to blame 
as she, and perhaps much more so ? (I wonder 
what the Adams do that have not any Eves to 
blame ?) Wouldn’t I rather praise her, that she 
did what she could ; and tell her not to worry, 
that she could not do more ? And if she was 
sick, and had been down nigh to the gates of 
death, do you suppose I would go to her with 
the cares and perplexities that burdened me, 
and even blame her that she had not managed 
differently, keeping her brain in such a whirl of 
excitement and worrimeut that she would look 
longingly into the grave for rest ? Would not I 
rather speak loving, encouraging and consoling 
words to her; remembering she would naturally 
•worry euough, that she cannot do when she sees 
so much to do, without one unkind, unfeeling 
remark from, me ? 
If I was a man I would try hard to be a man, 
and not a hateful, waspish churl, ready to Bting 
| at the least provocation, or without one. 
A true man I consider to be all that is good 
aud noble. Was he not made in the image of 
God ? Couldn’t I love such a man as that ? And 
wouldn’t I willingly mind Pa cl’s advice, which 
we have read so often :—Wives be in subjection 
to your own husbands in everything ? I think I 
could and would, Mrs. Somebodt. 
ABOUT SKATING-TO LADIES. 
1. Avoid skates which are strapped on the 
feet, as they prevent the circulation, and the foot 
becomes frozen before the skater is aware of it, 
because the tight strapping benumbs the foot, 
and deprives it of feeling. A young lady at Bos¬ 
ton lost a foot in this way; another, in New 
York, 1: r life, by attempting to thaw her feet in 
warm water after taking off her skates. The 
safest kind are those which receive the fore part 
of the foot In a kind of toe, and stout leather 
around the heel, buckling in front of the ankle 
only, thus keeping the heel in place without 
spikes or screws, and aiding greatly in support¬ 
ing the ankle. 
2. It is not the object so much to skate fast as 
to skate gracefully; and that is sooner and more 
easily learned by skating with deliberation, 
while it prevents over-heating, and diminishes 
the chances t f taking cold by cooliug off too 
soon afterwards. 
3. If the wind is blowing, a veil should be 
worn over tbe face, at least of ladies and chil¬ 
dren ; otherwise fatal inflammation of the lungs 
or pneumonia, may take place. 
4 . Ho not sit down to rest a single half min¬ 
ute, or stand still, if there is any wind, nor stop 
a moment alter the skates are taken off; but 
walk about so as to restore circulation about the 
feet and toes, and to prevent being chilled. 
5. It is better to walk home than to ride; the 
latter Is almost certain to give a cold. 
6. Never carry anything in the mouth while 
skating, nor auy hard substance in the hand, nor 
throw anything on the ice; none but a careless, 
reckless ignoramus would thus endanger a fel¬ 
low skater. 
7. If the thermometer is below thirty, and the 
wind blowing, no lady or child should be skating. 
S. Always keep your eyes about you, looking 
ahead and upwards, and not on the ice, that you 
may not run against some lady, or child, or 
learner. 
9. Arrange to have an extra garment, thick 
and heavy, to throw over your shoulders the 
moment you stop skating, and then walk home 
or at least half a mile, with the mouth closed so 
that the lungs may not be quickly chilled by the 
cold air dashing upon them through the open 
mouth ; if inhaled through the nose, it is warm¬ 
ed before it gets to the lungs. 
10. It would bo a safe rule for no child or lady 
to be on skates longer than an hour at a time. 
11. The grace, exercise aud healthfulness of 
skating ou the ice can he had without any of its 
dangers, by the use of skates with rollers at¬ 
tached, on a common floor; better if covered 
with oil cloth.— Hall' Journal of Health. 
--- ^-4 --- 
WOMEN KILLED WITH CARE. 
Every woman must have a best parlor, with 
hair-cloth furniture, and a photographic book; 
she must have a piano, or some cheaper substi¬ 
tute; her little girls must have embroidered 
skirts, aud much mathematical knowledge; her 
husband must have two or even three hot. meals 
every day of Ids life; and yet her house must be 
iu perfect order early iu the afternoon, and she 
prepared to go out and pay calls, with a black 
silk dress, and card-ease. In tins evening she 
will go to a concert or lecture, and then, at the 
end of all, she will very possibly sit up after mid¬ 
night with her sowing-machine, doing extra work 
to pay for little Ella’s music lessons. All this 
every “capable” woman will do or die! She 
does it, aud dies, and then we are astonished that 
Jn*r vital energy gives out sooner than that of an 
Irish woman in a shanty, with no ambition on 
ea rth but to supply her young Patricks with ade¬ 
quate potatoes.— T. TF. Uigginson. 
Many regard themselves as moral, disinterest¬ 
ed, truthful, and gentle, merely because they in¬ 
exorably insist that others shall be so. 
Joy may take her wreath and make it a wed¬ 
ding-ring of friendship or love; and grief may do 
the sonic with his girdle of thorns. 
No love from cliildreu is sweeter than that 
which follows severity; so from the bitter olive 
is sweet, soft oil expressed. 
Written lor Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
JANUARY 1ST, 1865. 
BY CLIO STANLEY. 
Earth, with all her joyful voices 
Hyrnneth to the radiant skies, 
Not a dream of sorrow moves her 
As the Year, neglected, dies; 
All the merry, lunching moments, 
All the bright nml sunny hours, 
That had crowned (he Year, forsaken, 
With her buds ami with bar dowers; 
All the light and dancing breezes 
That had blown his wavy locks. 
All the winds with joyous meaning, 
All the dark o'ei-hanging rooks 
In whose shadow he had rested 
When hi- weary march was clone,— 
All, forgetful, loft the <«ld Year 
In his death-hour, all alone— 
' Left him in the weary darkness 
Shivering with a half-spent moan.— 
To remember all his gladness. 
(Think how he had crowned been,) 
In the days forever gone ; 
To bring back each well-known scene; 
How the hopeful Sprli g had greeted 
Him with soft, balm-breathing hours, 
How tho radiant Summer wooed him. 
With her fair hands fall of flowers; 
While along the moi.-trued ridges 
Of the earth, the- corn appeared, 
And yet later, waving grain-fields. 
By their golden presence cheered 
With a promise of riel, harvests, 
And of garners amply stored. 
The wild birds on soaring pinions, 
The bright streams aud happy floods, 
All, had left on him the impress 
Of tholr own peculiar moods; 
Crimson leaves had decked Ids forehead, 
Hoary frost crowned him with gems, 
And the leafless Winter-branches 
Held to him their icy stems. 
But, alas! what need for thinking! 
Even those chilly days wore past, 
And no friend was left to cheer him,— 
None to cheer him at the last. 
Lost, lost. lost. 
Tho morning and the noon. 
Only left the saddened tale 
Of never-ending gloom. 
Lo6t. lost, lost. 
The singing aud the mirth, 
Nothing left hut one dark grave, 
Ou all the lonesome earth. 
Lost, lost, lost, 
Tho Spring and Summer gone. 
The Autumn and the Winter, too, 
And Hope to Heaven flown. 
O fairest-born of ,iglit and joy! 
We bail thy gentle birth. 
We bless thee with all voices 
Of sea and sky and earth! 
The waters leap to greet thee, 
The blue sky loveth thee. 
And earth puts on t > bridal robes 
Of sp'iw-wlf;c T ^ 
To greet thy presei,;-, ’at the dawn.— 
New day of Life ana Light! 
What does thy presence bring to us 
Of heartsome cheer. New Year! 
XI 
“ Forever charming, ever new, 
Are the delight- I bring. 
I blend the grand and beautiful 
Iu harmonistie ring. 
Voices of melting tenderness, 
Eyes of truthful hue, 
Brave thoughts to -lir the noble heart 
That beatoth but c>r von: 
The smile, the elgli. the tender tear 
All claim their silent place 
In love and grief and sympathy 
Within my close embrace.'' 
“ Sunniest slopes I bring, to woo 
The scented April air, 
Sunniest meadows to enfold 
The summer-flowers fair; 
Greenest pastures where the sheep 
May nibble the sweet grass, 
Coolest shade* to welcome you 
When thro’ the Helds you pass; 
Gentlest dews to drop adown 
In freshness on your heads, . 
Dreams of gladness to make bright 
The night about your beds." 
m. 
“Enough, enough, I will not tcdl 
Of aught that’s sorrowful: 
I’ll leave such to some other day, 
There'll be a morrowfull 
O pure of heart I tlnai ueed'st not fear 
The meaning of my reign, 
For whether there be most of joy, 
Or most of grief and pain,— 
E’en as thy day, thy strength shall be* 
And all beloved things 
Shall bring thee rest aud happiness 
From God's Eternal Springs.” 
Philadelphia, Pa. 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
THOUGHTS ON THE NEW YEAR. 
The old year is dead and buried, aud with it 
many brave forms. Its record of husbands, 
fathers, sous and brothers slain upon the battle¬ 
field, or suffering and dying away from kindred 
and home, of families broken up, of ruined 
hopes, is one not to be twilight, of without pain¬ 
ful feelings. Truly it hat been a year never to 
be forgotten. It.- history will ever stand among 
the records of many war-, which have stained 
our beautiful world wit li carnage, aud lain its 
brave ones low. 
The new year has tla'vn '.(bright and beautiful, 
and with it new hope-- an* fears. What thoughts 
it brings to our minds—thoughts of time unim¬ 
proved, of hopes blasted, of expected happiness 
never realized. ’Tis an epoch which should 
cause Us to pause in our career and thiuk of the 
year that is gone. 
44 'Tis greatly wise to talk with our past hours, 
And ask them what report they bore to heaven 
Aud how they might have borne more welcome news.’’ 
What lesson does our memory suggest as we 
review the past year ? What is the character of 
the history we have written on its pages ? Are 
they tilled with accounts of sacrifices lor the 
good of others, with instances of self-denial, and 
with noble deeds V Or are they marred with a 
record of unimproved opportunities, wasted 
talent, and humiliating selfishness ? What shall 
we write on the blank pages now placed before 
us ? The answer of our hearts should be, write 
a better history for the future. 
Did any one ever begin a new year without 
new and good resolutions V It hardly seems pos¬ 
sible for a thinking person to do so; but how 
lew can say at the close of the year, that they 
have been aide, to accomplish all they designed. 
Even the purest minds of earth, those who have 
the cause of God and humanity nearest then- 
hearts, can learn a useful lesson by reviewing the 
past—something that will suggest a better and a 
different course for the present and future. If 
we closely analyze the past we will discover 
blemishes, and sec points that need important 
modifications. Unwise is the man who remains 
untaught and unbenefited by these lessons of 
experience. If he tries not to correct faults 
when discovered, he receives no good from the 
review; hut should it stir him to make high and 
holy resolves, and to trust in divine strength for 
aid to execute them, they will be truly profited. 
What, day is more calculated to produce rever¬ 
ies than the last day of the old year ? Day dreams 
haunt, the waking hours of that day more nat¬ 
urally than those of any other. The mind re¬ 
considers the resolutions made at the beginning 
of the year, and notes the failure or success of 
tlie same. M any a well-formed plan has not been 
executed, many desires have not been granted, 
many hopes never have been and never can 
l>e realized. All should strive to see how much 
can be accomplished, before the last day of this 
new year dawns; before the king mow iu infancy 
shall have finished his course upon earth, and 
bowed his head with age, and yielded] to the 
great er monarch, Time. 
Wc mourn not for our aged friend; a few 
thoughts of tbe pa-t, a few mistakes made in 
dating letters, and he is forgotten. Some, per¬ 
haps, feel grateful for the blessings he brought, 
but the majority of mankind care little for his 
departure. We hail his successor with mirth and 
revelry. We imagine that he lias treasures for 
us which will be disclosed ere his term expires. 
“ Alas! hope deferred maketh the heart sick 
many who now breathe the pure aic of heaven, 
will, ere that, have closed their eyes in a dream¬ 
less sleep. They will awaken in a land where a 
new year’s day never dawns,—where time is un¬ 
limited and needs no measurement by years. 
Antwerp, N. Y. Mrs. Annie M. norrER. 
t - - 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
BE NOT HASTY. 
Don’t utter that harsh word, accompanied by 
a cold, chilling look ! Let it die upon the lips, 
t ..rfc it doioondB like i. Tic-ivy ftnolro upon some 
loving, sensitive, and trusting heart. Better 
suppress your grieved and angry emotion, Gian 
send a stern, unkind word to a soul that may 
bear its effects forever. De you say you have 
been wronged? Then go in a loving spirit to 
those who have injured yon aud show them their 
faults; tell them kindly, and 6ec how the heart 
will melt iu contrition, the eye fill with tears, 
and the bosom heave with sighs, and the voice 
in ;:ndcr accents plead for pardon. I)o you say 
the majority would turn away in pride and an¬ 
ger, or laugh at your weakness? Better eudnre 
patiently a thousand jeers than cruelly grieve 
one true heart. 
Don’t cheek the confidence that would he 
youi* were not your countenance, continually 
clothed with forbidding looks! Oh! the 
fearfhl, mighty influence of a word harshly or 
thoughtlessly spoken! A pleasant word will 
touch rich, hidden chords in tho soul, that 
will respond iu sweet, harmonious melodies. 
The bright sunny smile will mSnfirfiie lace, the 
eyes thrill with rapture, aud the lips strive iu 
vain to frame a reply. But a harsh expression 
will press the minor chords, wlllch send forth 
low, mournful dirges of sorrow and anguish. 
Don’t, censure those already painfully conscious 
of their errors, who are striving earnestly to 
overcome them. But rather breathe sweet words 
of encouragement aud advice. We are all wan¬ 
derers in a vale of tears, in a “ world of heavy, 
breaking hearts.” 
Be it ours to scatter kind words and winning 
smiles, to soothe the weary, to awaken the 
nobler, finer feelings, aud In all things perform 
well our mission. Guard well our lips, that none 
grieve in silence o’er our thoughtless words, aud 
above all, that we may enjoy tbe approving 
smiles of God. Llillie E. Lewis. 
FILL YOUR OWN PLACE, 
It takes all sorts of characters, says the late 
Professor Willson, to complete this great world- 
drama, and somebody must act them. In other 
Words, 1 believe that every man has his place in 
the world, and that lie was made specially for 
that place. It is only bv earnestly tilling that 
place that hr fulfills his destiny, and answers the 
end for which God created him. Confusion and 
disappointment only arise from our efforts to get 
into some other place than the one for which we 
are intended. The change of our choice i- limited 
by the character God has given to us, and the cir¬ 
cumstances by which lie hath surrounded us, and 
which have modified that character, and devel¬ 
oped those faculties. Each man is created with 
certain possibilities which determined the direc¬ 
tion lie must go, and the height to which he may 
rise. We need not, therefore, remain in doubt. 
Our path is so plainly marked out for us, that 
we need not seek long for It, if we have willing 
hearts and willing bauds to do it. 
“ No man is bora into tho world whose work 
Is not bora with him; there is always work 
And tools to work withal, for those who will.” 
Written for Moore’s Rural New-Yorker. 
ABOVE THE CLOUDS. 
BY A. T. ALLIS. 
Stars are shining, ever shining 
In the clear bine sky. 
Though their light be hidden from us 
As tlie clouds float by. 
.LA .Thickly though they gather o'er us, 
Dark with boding ill, 
Far above their gloomy darkness 
Stars are shining still. 
And they never ceaso their shining, 
Never dim their light, 
Though the clouds that gather o’er us 
Hide thorn from our eight. 
So God’s love for thee, Oh! Christian, 
Liveth on nud ou. 
Though His smiles, so prized aud precious. 
Be a while withdrawn, 
And though tempests round thee gather 
Thick aud dark and chill, 
■ He can see thee through the darkness 
And preserve thee still 
'Tis the night that brings the dewdrop, 
Starless though it eeem: 
And 'tis clouds that furnish showers 
To the Held and stream 
’Tis from clouds that souls arc watered, 
Much as they would pray 
That their shadows and their darkness 
Might be blown away. 
As the earth receives its beauty 
From the dew aud rain, 
So are souls made purer, stronger, 
By their tears and pain. 
Yet canst thou by faith look upward 
And behold the light, 
Though the clouds that gather o’er thee 
Hide it front thy sight. 
Trust then: let them, dark and dreary, 
Gather as they will. 
Knowing that in all life's trials 
God is loving still. 
Stephens Mills, N. Y., 1864. 
Written for Moore's Rural New-Yorker. 
THE CHRISTIANS HOPE. 
Much has been written iu prose aud verse of 
the pleasures of Hope, and as we recall to mind 
these numberless effusions, it secuis as though 
thesnbbject was exhausted, aud nothing could be 
said that has not. been reiterated time and again. 
Who can compeutently describe the hope of the 
Christian—a hope that maketh not ashamed, that 
reaches to that within the veil. How all mere 
earthly hopes grow dim in comparison with this 
Heaven-born principle of the soul. 
Think you those earthly martyrs for the truth 
would, could have gone thus fearlessly, yea, joy- 
mtly tu tlio otnKt, find mi bn iM hopt ol !l- livor. 
inspired their hearts? While Hope painted to 
them the glory that awaited them at tho right 
hand of the Majesty on high, the flames could 
have no power to depress their minds; they were 
enabled to shout victory, even while enduring the 
most cxcrutiating pain of body ; they endured 
us seeing what to their enemies was invisible, 
andofttimes their composure and indifference to 
insult and torture provoked the rage of their 
persecutors, aud no species of torment that their 
fiendish hate could invent was left untried; yet 
all in vain—unmoved and calm amidst the storm 
of hellish passions, they stood, sustained by a 
hope, not begotten of earth, but inspired by the 
Most High. Ah! who that, hath this glorious 
Hope would exchange It. for any or all of earth’s 
treasures? A hope of Heaven ! who can com¬ 
prehend all its blessed fullness? Truly, “eye 
hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it 
entered into the heart of uum to conceive ” the 
joys that await those who cherish a well ground¬ 
ed Hope of immortality. 
When the mind contemplates eternity, as Hope 
paints it to the Christian, how insignificant ap¬ 
pear the so called pleasures of earth. We often 
murmur because deprived of many things ; wc 
in our short sightedness imagine the possession 
would enhance our happiness, but hope tells us up 
yonder we shall he Oiled with all the fullness of 
God. Our friends, those we love, and would 
have walk life’s entire pathway with us, sicken 
and die, and as we see the silent dust lowered 
into its last resting place, our hearts are tilled 
with grief, for we know wc shall see them no 
more in the flesh; yet, even then, Hope sweetly 
whisper* of a reunion, where friends never part, 
in a land where the inhabitants thereof never 
sicken. Oh, what a joyful meeting’.—friends 
long seperated clasp glad hands with no shadow 
of parting to dampen their joy; hut Hope 
changed to glad fruition, throughout the endless 
ages of eternity our songs of praise shall never 
cease. Oh! cultivate Hope. Often let her paint 
the glories that await the finally faithful; it will 
sustain in trial’s hour, and make the hardest lot 
more endurable. Did we dwell more upon the 
thought of i>ur inheritance beyond! the grave, 
and act as t hough our hope was a living principle, 
we should murmur less at our trials, and Instead 
of t Linking we are the most miserable of all God’s 
children, we should oftcuer be heard praising 
Him for the Hope He, himself, has given us of 
immortality. Sybil. 
Greaee, Chenango Co., N. \ r ., Dee., 1864. 
Enjoyment soon wearies both itsell and us; 
effort never. That man is happy who devotee 
bis life to the cultivation of an island, to the dis¬ 
covery of one that is lost, or of the extent of the 
In darkness and silence rest the dead children 
in the arms oi the cold mother; but at last w lu ti 
the sun of eternity rises, they shall arise, and she, 
too, Bhall bloom again. 
