Through this broad street, restless ever, Ebbs and flows a human tide,Wave on wave a living river;Wealth and fashion side by side;Toiler, idler, slave and master, in the same quick current glide.
John Greenleaf Whittier
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They tell me, Lucy, thou art dead, that all of thee we loved and cherished has with thy summer roses perished; and left, as its young beauty fled, an ashen memory in its stead.
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Before me, even as behind, God is, and all is well.
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