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And yet, proud man, what hast thou here to do? Owes it one leaf, one breath, one bloom to you? Almighty God! and if thou couldst depart And leave no image in the darkened heart, What hope would be for earth, to soothe or save, Life, a brief struggle ending in the grave. No soul to elevate our wretched dust, No faith to triumph in its sacred trust, First fever, then oblivion, and the tomb, Eternal and unconquerable gloom. "Lord, we believe, help thou our unbelief." Let there be hope in toil, and joy in grief; Teach us on nature's glorious face to look, As if it were thine own immortal book; Teach us to read thee in thy works, and find Their evidence of thine Almighty mind. Keep us, till in the grave, with hope divine, We sink rejoicing that we now are thine.