Thou wilt interpret life to me, and men
Thou wilt interpret life to me, and men,
art, nature, [yea]1 my own soul's mysteries;
bringing truth out, clear joyous to my ken,
Fair as the morn trampling the dull night.
Then the lone hillside shall hear exultant cries;
The joyous see me joy, the weeping weep;
The watching smile, as Death breathes on me his cold sleep.
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Submitted by Emily Ezust [Administrator]
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