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 Nearer the heavy thunder drew, Hushing the voices ... yet he knew That he would go.

A quick-spun thread of lightning burns, And for a flash the day returns— He only hears Joseph, an old man bent and white Toiling alone from morn till night Thru all the years.

Swift clouds make all the heavens blind, A storm is running on the wind— He only sees How Mary will stretch out her hands Sobbing, who never understands Voices like these.