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"Heaven give thee
poverty, disease, or death,
Each varied ill that waits on human breath,
Rather than bid thee linger out thy life
In the long toil of such unnatural strife.
To wander through the world unreconciled,
Heart weary as a spirit-broken child,
And think it were an hour of bliss like heaven
If thou could'st die - forgiving and forgiven, -
Or with a feverish hope, of anguish born,
(Nerving thy mind to feel indignant scorn
Of all the cruel foes who 'twixt ye stand,
Holding thy heartstrings with a reckless hand,)
Steal to his presence, now unseen so long,
And claim his mercy who hath dealt the wrong!
Into the aching depths of thy poor heart
Dive, as it were, even to the roots of pain,
And wrench up thoughts that tear thy soul apart,
And burn like fire through thy bewildered brain.
Clothe them in passionate words of wild appeal
To teach thy fellow-creature how to feel, -
Pray, weep, exhaust thyself in maddening tears, -
Recall the hopes, the influences of years, -
Kneel, dash thyself upon the senseless ground,
Writhe as the worm writhes with dividing wound, -
Invoke the heaven that knows thy sorrow's truth,
By all the softening memories of youth -
By every hope that cheered thine earlier day -
By every tear that washes wrath away -
By every old remembrance long gone by -
By every pang that makes thee yearn to die;
And learn at length how deep and stern a blow
Near hands can strike, and yet no pity show!
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