At_Last

Does it know a secret sorrow? Will it fade Before the morrow? Seldom is my fancy dulled Before the evening shade is pulled. Adrift on seas of loneliness Sad hearts seek bearings less than this. Whoever's fire, I pray them peace Before my wakeful grip's released. To bait like favor in return, Through my repose a candle burns, A humble frail and twinkling prod That someone pray

My soul To God.

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