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the bitter frost and snaw.
may he, the friend o' woe and want,
who heals life's various stounds,
protect and guard the mother plant,
and heal her cruel wounds.
but late she flourish'd, rooted fast,
fair in the summer morn,
now feebly bends she in the blast,
unshelter'd and forlorn.
blest be thy bloom, thou lovely gem,
unscath'd by ruffian hand!
and from thee many a parent stem
arise to deck our land!
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