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Towards the Light
I never dared to stammer forth
my prayer.
How dismal, cold and dark the
earth appeared.
Poor child ! Why had I wished
to chain him there?
No ! No ! I ought no longer to
prevent
His pure, white soul from taking
instant flight
Straight to the arms of Christ
—the children’s friend.
A martyr’s crown waits those
who meekly suflfer
For others’ guilt. . . . My son
had won that crown.
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