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"Friday's child is loving and giving;
But Saturday's child must work for her living."
To C. G. N.
How shall I give you this, who long have known
Your gift of all the best of life to me?
No living word of mine could ever be
Without the stirring echo of your own.
Under your hand, as mine, this book has grown,
And you, whose faith sets all my musing free,
You, whose true vision helps my eyes to see,
Know that these pages are not mine alone.
Not mine to give, not yours, the happy days,
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