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But see, with sunshine radiant on his wings, An angel sent from heaven is ministering; And with their fears allay'd—their wants supplied, Lo, they arise refreshed. Is not this scene the type of sacred faith? How often on life's rough and weary path Do we sink fainting, with one only prayer, "Now help us, or we perish," on our lips. And never was this uttered earnestly, But that it has been answered: though no more His shining messengers walk visible On this unworthy earth; yet to our call Doth the Almighty still vouchsafe reply, And holy hopes arise within the heart; We feel that we are heard in heaven, and love Kindles within us like a steadfast thought, Which knows its own belief; and, comforted, We go upon our way rejoicing.