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my young cheek retains its healthful hues,
 * And I have many friends who hold me dear;
 * L! methinks, I would not often hear

Such melodies as thine, lest I should lose All memory of the wrongs and sore distress,
 * For which my miserable brethren weep!
 * But should uncomforted misfortunes steep

My daily bread in tears and bitterness; And if at death's dread moment I should lie
 * With no beloved face at my bed-side,

To fix the last glance of my closing eye,
 * Methinks, such strains, breath'd by my angel-guide,

Would make me pass the cup of anguish by,
 * Mix with the blest, nor know that I had died!