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Das Kreuz zu rühmen weun es fern.

To praise the Cross while yet untried,

Comes oft of self-conceit and pride;

But when it presses, to embrace

And love it, only comes of grace.

Nein, das Kreuz hat keine Last

Nay! not sore the Cross's weight,

Save to souls the Cross that hate;

Souls that can with love receive it,

Childlike to their Father leave it,

May be still 'mid all its woe,

And a strange deep gladness know.

Only Self-love murmurs yet,

Only Sense and Nature fret,

They repine, for they must perish

If the soul true life will cherish;

Light and dear the Cross shall prove,

For it is the gift of Love.

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