WEARINESS.
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little feet! that such long yearsMust wander on through hopes and fears,Must ache and bleed beneath your load;I, nearer to the wayside innWhere toil shall cease and rest begin,Am weary, thinking of your road! O little hands! that, weak or strong,Have still to serve or rule so long,Have still so long to give or ask;I, who so much with book and penHave toiled among my fellow-men,Am weary, thinking of your task. O little hearts! that throb and beatWith such impatient, feverish heat,Such limitless and strong desires;Mine that so long has glowed and burned,With passions into ashes turnedNow covers and conceals its fires. O little souls! as pure and whiteAnd crystalline as rays of lightDirect from heaven, their source divine;Refracted through the mist of years,How red my setting sun appears,How lurid looks this soul of mine!
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