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 AIT for a moment, Death, I pray you wait ; I have been waiting years, O friend, for you. Now that your hand holds mine in firmest grasp, Let me look back, ay, even from Heaven, to view All the dear earth, and make my last adieu. Mountains and purple mists and valleys green, Rivers and moaning seas and lakes asleep, Little white houses where the people live, One little house where mourners watching keep, — No, I am still, good Death; souls cannot weep. Yet it is fair, the earth, so fair, so good ! Suffer me, O ye friends who dwell therein, While I implore you not to spurn the earth ; Surely to slight God's work is bitter sin, Surely God does not end where men begin.