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Rh Thou knowest, O Lord, my prime solicitude Was for the work Thou hast to me unworthy Confided in Thy Providence unachieved,— And yet I know the Holiest never fails For lack of service; but allows to each The measure He in wisdom hath ordain'd.

For all the land is foul with monstrous wrong, And desolation of the sons of Hell. Surely the long long wail of human woe Ever ascends from all our earth to heaven! But here the mist of blind unending tears Hangs undissolving, and abolishes Yon very Life-Light from His shining halls, And hides the Father from his orphan'd sons. Hell is let loose; and jubilant cruelty Tortures a feeble lowly-witted race, Poor fallen outcast of humanity; Inflames the lurking salvage brute that haunts A wilding blood to fratricidal war, To thrall its very kindred, for the sport Of paler large-brain'd fiends, the common foe,