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secret from among the throng
 * God sometimes takes a soul,

And leads her slow, through grief and wrong,
 * Unswerving to her goal.

He chooses her to be His bride,
 * And gives her from His store,

Meek tenderness and lofty pride,
 * That she may feel the more.

He makes her poor, without a stay,
 * Desiring all men's good,

Searching the True, pure, pure alway,
 * But still, misunderstood.

Beneath a weight of pains and fears
 * He makes her often fall,

He nourishes her with bitter tears,
 * Unseen, unknown of all.

He spreads the clouds her head above,
 * He tries her hour by hour,

From Hate she suffers and from Love,
 * And owns of each the power.