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So to the end, though now of mortal pangs
Made heir, and emptied of thy glory awhile,
With unaverted eye

Thou meetest all the storm.

Thou wilt feel all, that Thou may'st pity all;

And rather would'st Thou wrestle with strong pain Than overcloud Thy soul,

So clear in agony,

Or lose one glimpse of heaven before the time.
O, most entire and perfect sacrifice,

Renew'd in every pulse

That on the tedious cross

Told the long hours of death, as, one by one,
The life-strings of that tender heart gave way.
E'en sinners, taught by Thee,

Look sorrow in the face,

And bid her freely welcome, unbeguiled
By false kind solaces and spells of earth ;—
And yet not all unsoothed;

For when was joy so dear

As the deep calm that breathed Father forgive," Or, ' Be with me in Paradise to-day?'

And though the strife be sore,

Yet in his parting breath

Love masters agony; the soul that seem'd

Forsaken, feels her present God again,

And in her Father's arms

Contented dies away.

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VII.

George Herbert.

SELECTED POEMS.

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