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Updated: May 19, 2025
I do not know what the song was whether some slow, sad negro melody, or loud-sounding hymn, such as the forests ring with at camp-meetings; but I know what the murmuring and dying sound brought to me again, living, splendid, instinct with a thoughtful but perfect joy. Fairyland never, with its silver-twisted, trumpet-flower-like bugles, rolled such a merry-mournful music to the friendly stars!
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