All are not taken; there are left behind Living Belovèds, tender looks to bring And make the daylight still a happy thing, And tender voices, to make soft the wind: But if it were not so—if I could find No love in all this world for comforting, Nor any path but hollowly did ring Where `dust to dust` the love from life disjoin`d; And if, before those sepulchres unmoving I stood alone (as some forsaken lamb Goes bleating up the moors in weary dearth) Crying `Where are ye, O my loved and loving?`— I know a voice would sound, `Daughter, I AM. Can I suffice for Heaven and not for earth?`SourceThe script ran 0.002 seconds.
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