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40               STEVENSON'S POEMS
Ye have the power, if but ye had the wills
Strong-smitten steady chords in sequence grand, To bear me forth into that tranquil land
Where good is no more ravelled up with ill;
Where she and I, remote upon some hill Or by some quiet river's windless strand, May live, and love, and wander hand in hand,
And follow nature simply, and be still.
From this grim world, where, sadly, prisoned, we Sit bound with others' heart-strings as with chains, And, if one moves, all suffer,—to that Goal,
If such a land, if such a sphere, there be, Thither, from life and all life's joys and pains, O even wings of music, bear my soul!
FEAR not, dear friend, but freely live your days
Though lesser lives should suffer.    Such am I,
A lesser life, that what is his of sky Gladly would give for you, and what of praise. Step, without trouble, down the sunlit ways.
We that have touched your raiment, are made whole
From all the selfish cankers of man's soul,