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I do believe that thou wilt teach him so. I know that in my lonely state of penitence, Sever'd from earthly bliss, I to thy mind Shall be like one whom death hath purified. O that, indeed, or death or any suff'rings, By earthly frame or frameless spirit endured, Could give me such a nature as again Might be with thine united! Could I but forward look and trust to this, Whatever suff'rings of a lengthen'd life Before me lay would be to me as nothing; As the rough billows of some stormy frith, Upon whose further shore fair regions smile; As the rent shroudings of a murky cloud, Thro' which the mountain traveller, as he bends His mantled shoulders to the pelting storm, Sees sunny brightness peer. Could I but think—

Think it! believe it! with a rooted faith, Trust to it surely. Deep as thy repentance, Aspiring be thy faith!

Ay, were my faith Strong as my penitence, 't were well indeed. My scourge and bed of earth would then be temper'd Almost to happiness.