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REMONSTRANCE.
I know, to die—to part, will cloud
The brightest spirit o'er;
And yet, wouldst thou for ever weep,
When he can weep no more?
Fix not thy sight, so long and fast,
Upon the shroud's despair;
Look upward unto Zion's hill,
For death was also there!
And think, ' The death, the scourge, the scorn,
My sinless Saviour bore—
The curse—the pang, too deep for tears—
That I should weep no more!'
