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What though the dark cloud for a season doth hover,

O’er pleasures and prospects so humble as thine;

The joy of the past taken from thee for ever—

And thy faint heart tempted by grief to repine:

Thy Loved and thy Lost shall on earth no more greet thee,

Farewell hath thine eyes with its weeping made dim;

But think, though Creation henceforth may seem empty,

Thou canst not be severed a moment from HIM.

Oft, oft shall the prayer unto God be ascending,

Though far in the wilderness from thee we dwell,

That into thine heart He may daily be sending

Joys, comforts, and blessings which tongue cannot tell:

That long be thy life, and all-fragrant that life be,

And if more affliction thy bliss should bedim.

His voice of compassion may sweetly remind thee,

Thy life, in thy trials, is hidden with HIM.

But short is our sojourn on earth at the longest,

The day comes apace mid our pleasure and strife,

When, though to the seeming we flourish the fairest,

Shall our roots be plucked up from this nursery—life:

And O, when the tomb life’s scenes from us shall sever,

When death’s awful shadow this world shall bedim,

May we rise to the kingdom of life and for ever

Be planted in glory—true branches of HIM.

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