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ERCIFUL God, how few Good folk remain on earth. Behold, each one in heart Is setting snares for another. But with fine words, And lips honey-sweet They kiss—and wait To see how soon Their brother to his grave Will find his way.

But Thou who art Lord alone Shuttest up the evil lips, That great-speaking tongue That says:—
 * "No trifling thing are we,

How glorious shall we show In intellect and speech. Who is that Lord
 * that will forbid

Our thoughts and words?"

Yea, the Lord shall say to Thee "I shall arise, this day On their behalf—
 * People of mine in chains,