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A Carol Closing Sixty-Nine.


A carol closing sixty-nine—a résumé—a repetition, My lines in joy and hope continuing on the same, Of ye, O God, Life, Nature, Freedom, Poetry; Of you, my Land—your rivers, prairies, States—you, mottled  
 Flag I love,
Your aggregate retain'd entire—Of north, south, east and west,  
 your items all;
Of me myself—the jocund heart yet beating in my breast, The body wreck'd, old, poor and paralyzed—the strange inertia  
 falling pall-like round me,
The burning fires down in my sluggish blood not yet extinct, The undiminish'd faith—the groups of loving friends.
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