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MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. The primrose, crush'd by careless tread, Revives not with the dew, But withers through the wintry hours, 'Till Spring its buds renew; And what can Innocence restore, Its spotless hue once flown ? Oh, what can bid it bloom once more ? The Grave--the Grave alone ! LIFE, AS IT IS. 133 1816. BuT, hark, a voice divine replies, Is this thy gloomy strain ? Can sin be never wiped. away ?- Then Christ has died in vain: And vain must be that holy wo?d, Of hope, and solace, full ;m Tho' deep as crimson be thy crimes, They shall be made as wool.* Isaiah, 1. 18. ......... ?Google
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