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THE HOUSE OF MOURNING.
Ah ! death is very, very wide,
A land terrible and dry: If Thou, sweet Saviour! hadst not died,
Who would have dared to die ?
Another fall! — Surely we steal
On towards Eternity : — Lord! is this death ? — I only feel
Down in some sea with Thee. |
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THE HOUSE OF MOURNING.
Gloom gathered round us every hour In that house of awful sorrow;
Each day lay darker and more dark In the shadow of its morrow.
And yet no cloud that came passed on,
No yesterdays went by ; 'T was a storm that gathers without wind,
Until it chokes the sky.
Time hungered for some dreadful change,
And yet grew sick with fear, Impatient at the slow approach
Of that which was too near. |
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