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La Via Dolorosa

I wander here, I wander there,
Through the desert of life, all wearily;
No joy on earth for the pilgrim soul
On, on for ever drearily;
O’er the mountain height,
In the tempest night,
Through the mist and the gloom,
We press on to the tomb,
While the death‐like pall of a midnight sky
Hangs over past and futurity.

And the echo of wandering feet I hear,
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