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Poem

871

The Sun and Moon must make their haste—
The Stars express around
For in the Zones of Paradise
The Lord alone is burned—

His Eye, it is the East and West—
The North and South when He
Do concentrate His Countenance
Like Glow Worms, flee away—

Oh Poor and Far—
Oh Hindred Eye
That hunted for the Day—
The Lord a Candle entertains
Entirely for Thee—

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