Page 55 - Ebook-Rosary

O Death

O Death, my comforter art Thou,

The healer of my wounds enow,

Thy yielding glance do I beseech

And for Thy soothing hand I reach.

I yearn for Thee, years pass me by,

Thou comest not, but from my cry

I hear an echo o'er the hill,

'A sacred duty first fulfil'.

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