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The Santa Fe Trail

THE SORROWS GRIM WANT IMPOSES.

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’Neath the sorrows that grim want imposes, Imperious stalks decay; Hunger’s terrors have withered the roses That bloomed and then faded away. The hearts which with young life once budded, The fond hopes which happiness kissed, Are dissolved in the tears which have flooded The homes of the poor in our midst.

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