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 S it death, is it death, that is coming ? Well, let it come : It has been, like &#34; The French ! &#34; but a cry of &#34;Wolf!&#34; for so long, That I think I am glad now at last to find it is here, That the enemy stands at the door. Walk in, tardy foe. When the minister came from Bethesda after my soul, He declared I was Pagan in strength, it grieved him to say. &#34;Are the Christians all weak, then?&#34; I asked : &#34;if so, none for me &#59;&#34; Let the women be meek, but the men must stand till they die.