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The dark and heavy shades of woe;
But short their power—the frowns they cast,
Like April storms are quickly past.
One day, perhaps, our skies they dim;
One night, the couch with tears may swim;
But morn dispels the sable shroud,
The sun of mercy lights the cloud;
An unseen power, with mild control,
Restores the weak and weary soul,
And makes the wounded spirit whole.
