IV.
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OR lo, what changes time can bring!The cycles of revolving yearsMay free my heart from all its fears,And teach my lips a song to sing. Before yon field of trembling goldIs garnered into dusty sheaves,Or ere the autumn’s scarlet leavesFlutter as birds adown the wold, I may have run the glorious race,And caught the torch while yet aflame,And called upon the holy nameOf Him who now doth hide His face.
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