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Towards the Light
And bid him hear a strain of
angels’ songs.
His silent sobs we melt in
harmony. . . .
His highest thought is but a gift
from us.
Say ! Can there bea fairer paradise?
Can mortals dream a joy exceed-
ing ours ?
Like Christ, we always sacrifice
ourselves,
Yet keep eternally more than we
give.
Now dawn is near. . . . Thy lamp
is burning low !
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