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CIV

O let me climb

When I lie down! The pious soul by night

Is like a clouded star, whose beams, though said

To shed their light

Under some cloud,

Yet are above,

And shine and move

Beyond that misty shroud.

So in my bed,

--That curtain'd grave,--though sleep, like ashes, hide

My lamp and life,--both shall in Thee abide.

82
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