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326 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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Nursling nurtured, as 'tis right— Harbors here no servile spright— Jesu of the skies, who art Next my heart thro' every night!
Jesukin, my good for aye, Calling and will not have nay, King of all things, ever true, He shall rue who will away.
Jesu, more than angels aid, Fosterling not formed to fade, Nursed by me in desert wild, Jesu, child of Judah's Maid.
Sons of Kings and kingly kin,. To my land may enter in; Guest of none I hope to be, Save of thee, my Jesukin !
Unto heaven's High King confest Sing a chorus, maidens blest! He is o'er us, though within Jesukin is on my breast!
LOVE'S DESPAIR
From the Irish of Diarmad O' Curnain
I
AM desolate, Bereft by bitter fate; No cure beneath the skies can save me, No cure on sea or strand, Nor in any human hand — But hers, this paining wound who gave me. |
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