696 Their Height in Heaven comforts not— Their Glory—nought to me— `Twas best imperfect—as it was— I`m finite—I can`t see— The House of Supposition— The Glimmering Frontier that Skirts the Acres of Perhaps— To Me—shows insecure— The Wealth I had—contented me— If `twas a meaner size— Then I had counted it until It pleased my narrow Eyes— Better than larger values— That show however true— This timid life of Evidence Keeps pleading—"I don`t know."SourceThe script ran 0.001 seconds.
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