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Consolation

ALL are not taken; there are left behind
     Living Beloveds, tender looks to bring
     And make the daylight still a happy thing,
And tender voices, to make soft the wind:
But if it were not so—if I could find
     No love in all this world for comforting,
     Nor any path but hollowly did ring
Where 'dust to dust’ the love from life disjoin’d;
And if, before those sepulchres unmoving
     I stood alone (as some forsaken lamb
Goes bleating up the moors in weary dearth)
Crying ‘Where are ye, O my loved and loving?’—
     I know a voice would sound, ‘Daughter, I AM.
Can I suffice for Heaven and not for earth?’
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