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W
E may not see the soul, the spirit, or the breath we breathe, And still that they exist we question not: We know and feel a presence often near Which to deny, on life would leave a blot; The rays of light we see which issue from the sun, And still the sun see (not in all its splendor to behold); This world creation unto us is dense as we unto ourselves-- The quickened mould; But when the Hand Divine the clouds shall rift And with the rainbow tints our hearts illume, Perhaps we then may see where now we hark: When every chord in life may be in tune. |