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Where I Lived, and What I Lived For
sic, instead of factory bells, and a fragrance filling the air --

    to a he darkness

    bear its fruit, and prove itself to be good, no less t.

    t man  eacains an earlier,

    more sacred, and auroral  profaned, has

    despaired of life, and is pursuing a descending and darkening way.

    After a partial cessation of he soul of man, or

    its organs rated eacries

    again  can make.  All memorable events, I should

    say, transpire in morning time and in a morning atmosphe

    Vedas say, quot;All intelligences a;  Poetry and

    art, and t and most memorable of tions of men, date

    from sucs and he

    c t sunrise.  to him whose

    elastic and vigorous t keeps pace he day is a

    perpetual morning.  It matters not he

    attitudes and labors of men.  Morning is where

    is a da to throw off sleep.

    t men give so poor an account of they have

    not been slumbering?  t sucors.  If they

    been overcome hey would have performed

    somet

    only one in a million is aellectual

    exertion, only one in a o a poetic or divine life.

    to be ao be alive.  I  met a man who was

    quite awake.  he face?

    e must learn to rea by

    mec by an infinite expectation of the dawn, which

    does not forsake us in our soundest sleep.  I know of no more

    encouraging fact tionable ability of man to elevate

    is someto be able to

    paint a particular picture, or to carve
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