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Towards the Light
Where —on his bed of snow —
the boy was resting.
He was aUve as yet, although the
breathing
Could scarcely be perceived, so
faint it was.
I bent despairing o’er the pros-
trate form
And cried aloud in bitter help-
lessness :
**
Oh, could I purchase with a
thousand pangs
One hour of life —that life I
once disdained,
How quickly I would fly to
summon help.
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