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Then let us, baring our hearts and kneeling,
Sing, while we wait this Angel's sword,“ Blessed is he that cometh
In the name of the Lord !”
SHRISTEN, friend, and I will tell you
3 Why I sometimes seem so glad,
Then, without a reason changing, Soon become so grave and sad.
Half my life I live a beggar,
Ragged, helpless, and alone; But the other half a monarch,
With my courtiers round my throne.
Half my life is full of sorrow,
Half of joy, still fresh and new; One of these lives is a fancy,
But the other one is true.
While I live and feast on gladness,
Still I feel the thought remain, This must soon end,-nearer, nearer,
Comes the life of grief and pain.
While I live a wretched beggar,
One bright hope my lot can cheer; Soon, soon, thou shalt have thy kingdom,
Brighter hours are drawing near.
So you see my life is twofold,
Half a pleasure, half a grief; Thus all joy is somewhat tempered, · And all sorrow finds relief.
Which, you ask me, is the real life,
Which the Dream-the joy, or woe? Hush, friend ! it is little matter,
And, indeed—I never know.
PVC PREAD, spread thy silver wings, oh
Look how my Dove soars far away;
Is rest where cloudlets slowly creep,
Ah no! that southern vapour white
The battle-field lies still and cold,
Nay, though they dream of no alarm,
Pause where the Pilgrims' day is done,
Ah no! that worn and weary band
Then find a soul who meets at last
Ah no! for Time can rob her yet,