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“Oh, pusillanimous Heart, be comforted,— 
And, like a cheerful traveler, take the road, 
Singing beside the hedge. What if the bread 
Be bitter in thy inn, and thou unshod 
To meet the flints?—At least it may be said, 
Because the way is short , I thank Thee, God!” 
In P„tria. 
In patria! How sweet 
As music soft it falls upon mine ear, 
And bids my weary, pilgrim spirit, greet 
Its native land so dear. 
How doth mine exile feet 
In stranger clime, far from my birthland roam, 
But rest remaineth, and a welcome sweet, 
In patria, my home. 
In patria! Dear land! 
Awaiting now within its borders blest 
I fain would reach that sempiternal strand 
And be fore’er at rest. 
I soon shall reach the goal, 
And for the din and labor of the day, 
The new, new song within my raptured soul. 
Will all earth’s grief repay. 
Then for life’s weary woes 
Its time of sorrow and its cross of care. 
Be God’s (( Amen” of infinite repose. 
My sweet, abundant share. 
— Yen. Sister M. Genevieve Todd. 
