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Poem by Elizabeth Barrett-Browning
THANK God, bless God, all ye who suffer not More grief than ye can weep for. That is well-- That is light grieving ! lighter, none befell Since Adam forfeited the primal lot. Tears ! what are tears ? The babe weeps in its cot, The mother singing, at her marriage-bell The bride weeps, and before the oracle Of high-faned hills the poet has forgot Such moisture on his cheeks. Thank God for grace, Ye who weep only ! If, as some have done, Ye grope tear-blinded in a desert place And touch but tombs,--look up I those tears will run Soon in long rivers down the lifted face, And leave the vision clear for stars and sun.
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