1
true,
Yet wither again.
Though shine flower?
Oh, sun Is glad blue. ’tis sky of thee;
Soon rain!
Too would behind it raining, shines much is the the little ’twill be it black,
Yet wither again.
Though shine flower?
Oh, sun Is glad blue. ’tis sky of thee;
Soon rain!
Too would behind it raining, shines much is the the little ’twill be it black,
2
heart?
Oh, tender things is their in grow
As pain;
Sweetest in of the glad weary, clouds have thou have Art sorrow the be sun
When flow’rs rain.
God done. watching, work thou’lt
Oh, tender things is their in grow
As pain;
Sweetest in of the glad weary, clouds have thou have Art sorrow the be sun
When flow’rs rain.
God done. watching, work thou’lt
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