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 * As he who loved the sinner and the child,
 * Before whose beauty still the tyrant quails
 * Comes by alone, a quiet man and mild.
 * The voice of all reproach is fixed and fails;
 * The heart is willing to be reconciled.
 * Was it his work, the groaning in the jails?
 * When bodies writhed and wept, could he have smiled?

Be strong, undaunted soul, To break the aureole:
 * Release our chain, but leave him unreviled.

Though sweet the lily blows The fire upon the rose
 * Alone shall guide thee on the bitter wild,
 * At last to find no Lotus land,

But one where Truth may touch thee dying with sweet hand.