EAST LONDON
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Twas August, and the fierce sun overheadSmote on the squalid streets of Bethnal Green,° °2And the pale weaver, through his windows seenIn Spitalfields,° look'd thrice dispirited. °4 I met a preacher there I knew, and said: 5"Ill and o'erwork'd, how fare you in this scene?"--"Bravely!" said he; "for I of late have been,Much cheer'd with thoughts of Christ, _the living bread."_ O human soul! as long as thou canst soSet up a mark of everlasting light, 10Above the howling senses' ebb and flow, To cheer thee, and to right thee if thou roam--Not with lost toil thou labourest through the night!Thou mak'st the heaven thou hop'st indeed thy home.
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