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To Cousin Nettie Oh why delight to wrap the Soul In pall of fancied sadness T'were best be merry while we live And paint our cheeks with gladness What if hope tells a flattering tale And mocks us by deceiving Tis better far to be content; There's nothing made of grieving The girls. Heaven bless their precious souls Are thick as bees about us; And every Mother's son well knows They could not do without us. They're dangerous though to meddle with For they too are deceiving They'll win and laugh then flirting yet There is nothing made by grieving April 21st 1860 Your Cousin E. [Coiner?]