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CHAP. II. On the Neglect of Private Prayer
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Brightest and best of the sons of the morning.
295
Flowers, wherefore do ye bloom?
"He was there alone," when even
Here, bliss is short, imperfect, insecure
Hope sets the stamp of vanity on all
I asked a man of sorrow and of tears
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Oh, thou who dry'st the mourner's tear
Oh, thou whose mercy guides my way
Our life how short, a groan, a sigh