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THE GUARDIAN ANGELS
Without the shadow of the trees
That bent above his way,
Where lost the moon her silver light,
He stood at last at bay.
And on his gown, from his pale brow
Fell great tears of his fright;
His shaking hands held close the gold
Wrapped in its cloth so white.
He knelt him down upon his knee
And prayed the Lord to hear,
"Christ, loosen Thou these laggard feet
That hold me slow in fear.
"Oh, strengthen Thou this childish heart
That trembles all afraid,
In pity for the calling sick
Who die without my aid.
"And let me bring all safely through
The shadows of the night,
The gold I bear for old and poor,
Still Thou this strange affright."
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