OH! miserable power To dreams allow'd, to raise the guilty past, And back awhile the illumined spirit to cast On its youth's twilight hour; In mockery guiling it to act again The revel or the scoff in Satan's frantic train! Nay, hush thee, angry heart! An Angel's grief ill fits a penitent; Welcome the thorn—it is divinely sent, And with its wholesome smart Shall pierce thee in thy virtue's palmy home, And warn thee what thou art, and whence thy wealth has come.
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5/24/2026 1:50:30 AM # 1.0.0