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THE PATHS OF DEATH. 207
And I would pass in silence, Lord !
No brave words on my lips, Lest pride should cloud my soul, and I
Should die in the eclipse.
But when, and where, and by what pain,—
All this is one to me I only long for such a death
As most shall honor Thee.
Long life dismays me, by the sense
Of my own weakness scared: And by Thy grace a sudden death
Need not be unprepared.
One wish is hard to be unwished,—
That I at last might die Of grief for having wronged with sin
Thy spotless Majesty.
THE PATHS OF DEATH.
How pleasant are thy paths, O Death !
Like the bright slanting west, Thou leadest down into the glow Where all those heaven-bound sunsets go,
Ever from toil to rest.