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DR. E. E. PORTER, PITTSFIELD, MAINE.

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HERE Sickness lies In its sombre g'own, Awaiting the can of the spectre, Death, And I'icb and POOl' alike, in the town, Pay bomag'e to him with parting breath, You'll find onr Doctor there. He snatc)ws the pI'ey. fl'om those bony hands; Renews in J..ire's hOUl'-glass Time's glistening' sands, Smoot.hing the brow of Care. \Vhere l\fa!'iOn!'! gather in secret rite, Searching the Orient's m~'stic lore, \Vaging for Truth an unceasing fight, In His name whom all mortal!'! adore, Om' DoctOl' delights to be. LIbel'ty's torch he lifteth on high, Tolerance, Charity, Freedom, til(> (,I'Y, The Cult's High Priest is he. \Vhere softly falls the sun's slant ray Thru forest tl'ees, on shimmering brook; 'Vhere fish pursue tllcir insect prey An(] deer frequent the sheltered nook, Our Doctor oft will stroll. If there be left some i(lIe time He also courts the mnse sublime 'Tis food unto his soul.

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