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'Tis only our dull hearts that tire so soon

Of CHRIST's repeated call; while they in Heaven,

Unwearied basking in the eternal noon,

Still sound the note, by the first Seraph given,

What time the Morning Stars around their King

Began for evermore to shine and sing.


And you, ye gentle babes, true image here

Of such as walk in white before the Throne,

Ye weary not of Love, how oft soe'er

Her yearnings she repeat in unchanged tone.

To tale familiar, to remember'd strain,

To frolic ten times tried, ye cry, Again.

How have I seen you, when the unpleasing time

Came for some kindly guest to pass away,

Cling round his skirts! how mark'd the playful chime

Of earnest voices, pledged to make him stay!

O deeply sink, and with a tearful spell,

The memories of such welcome and farewell.

Nor wants in elder love the like soft charm.

The Mother tires not of one little voice,

Ev'n as she fain all day with patient arm

Would bear one burthen. O frail heart, rejoice!

Love trains thee now by repetition sweet

The unwasting and unvarying bliss to greet.

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