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A scene of errors & of pride like this
Is full of tinselled misery – bless;
Then seek & sigh for happiness in vain
Yet But who would die – or who be born again
Yet, in the gloomiest, & the weariest day
The hand of joy oft wipes our tears away –
Tho' joy is like a shadow – pain & evil
And losses – without number or belief
The part is but a melancholy thought mournful
The present, misery wretched if no pillow be
If we are lost in death's destroying cell –
Our only hope – All will at last be well
That all is well – is man's mistake – in night
Even Sages lift me – God alone is right
My pain lowly suffering – my submissive sighs
Tis 'gainst the wiser will of heaven shall rise.
Identifier: | JB/110/165/001 "JB/" can not be assigned to a declared number type with value 110.
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110 |
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165 |
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001 |
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collectanea |
2 |
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recto |
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sir john bowring |
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36155 |
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