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THE ORIGIN OF DIMPLES, 45 
Day hath no more glory, 
Though he soars so high ; 
Thine is all man’s story, 
Live,—and love, 

and die | | 

The Origin of Dimples. 
A FANOY, 
NE morning in the blossoming May, 

A child was sporting ’mongst the flowers 

Till, wearied out with his restless play, 
He laid him down to dream away 
The long and scorching noontide hours. 
At length an Angel’s unseen form 
Parted the air with a conscious thrill, 
And poised itself like a presence warm 
Above the boy who was slumbering still. 
Never before had so fair a thing 
Stayed the swift speed of his shining wing ; 
And gazing down with a wonder rare, 
On the beautiful face of the dreamer there, 
The Angel stooped to kiss the child, 
When lo! at the touch the baby smiled— 
And just where the unseen lips had prest, 

A dimple lay in its sweet unrest, — 




