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Then, poor and orphan'd though I prove,
With moanings meek,
Thy Face to seek.
“ Sanctify a fast..gather the children, and those that suck the breasts.
'Tis said, the immortal Powers on high Might envy Saints on earth, for they can die ;
They for their Lord may suffer loss ; Those but adore, these taste, the healing Cross. So while in all beside, dear babe, we pine
For hope as pure as thine, One gift we have, one token more than thou, With choice of heart beneath the Saviour's yoke to bow.
No deep of joy to thee is lost
No memory-cloud in air, to dim
The gladsome days are thine : to us are sent
The wan soft gleams of Lent,
Our portion in Christ's awful year,
Come, spotless one, He seems to say,
How keen the fires must burn
Oft have we mark'd thy wistful eye Fix'd upon ours when evil news came nigh,
As who should say, “My dreams are bright, Why should the cloud of woe on thee alight ?” Then sweeter grew thy smile, thy soft caress
Would closer seem to press, And for the woe, to thee yet unreveal'd, Pure balm of kindly hope thou didst unknowing yield.