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40 I made confession of my latest sins, And Agnes, while she chode, did comfort me. " The beauty is there, though we see it not, Tis only we are tired, my little heart ; We see God darkly, through our coloured glass, As men for safety do observe the sun." And yet her own life was not all so calm, For as our dying lamp was not renewed, She sat with folded hands, and plaintive sang The hymn of one who, though a Protestant, Was yet a nun self-clothed in purity : " O driving wind, O drifting rain, force and weakness, joined in pain, Fit parable for me. Just so, I know and will the right, And err, and work my soul's despite, In sin and misery. " O little children in the street, With patient, holy, pattering feet, And ever-ready smile ; 1 pray you, draw my soul to yours, And hold it when it feebly soars, Lest Satan me beguile.