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Hath she not then, for pains and fears,
The day of woe, the watchful night,
For all her sorrow,
all her tears,
An over-payment of delight?
"THAT THEY ALL MAY BE ONE"
WHENE'ER there comes a little child,
If a low strain of music sails
Softly wakes within my heart;
In all that's pure and fair and good,
Feel them blend,
Although I fail to comprehend.
And if one woundeth with harsh word,
And mine, to whom He gave the fire.