AK low to me, my Saviour, low and

From out the hallelujahs, sweet and

Lest I should fear and fall, and miss Thee

Who art not missed by any that entreat.

Speak to mo as to Mary at thy feet !

And if no precious gums my hands bestow,

Let my tears drop like amber while I

In reach of thy divinest voice

In humanest affection — thus, in sooth,

To lose the sense of losing.

As a child,

Whose song-bird seeks the wood for

Is sung to in its stead by mother's

Till, sinking on her breast, love-reconciled,

He sleeps the faster that he wept before.

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