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Long hast thou suffered, sister of my heart, Still thou art Fair to see; Thy pains thou entertainest with thy song, But how long Will this be?

The seasons all have come and gone, my dear, But thy cheer Still abides. I ask which of thy moan or song is best And thou sayst: "God decides."

I feel the ebbing of the undertone Of thy moan In thy song; How long will tears and irony compete For thee, Sweet, O, how long?

When wilt thou, Baby dear, with nimble feet, Run to greet Me at the door? When wilt thou, Saada, walk again with me Near the sea, As before?

O sister, how I wish to see thee run, In the sun, On the sands! The singing breakers and the smiling beach To thee reach Out their hands.