Page:Poems Kimball.djvu/329

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WE DO NOT KNOW.
311
Our best is ill, our worst perhaps
His pity cottons a lesser lapse;
But every sin is very black
   And turns us back
From duty's straight and shining track.

Sweet is the fear that will not dare
Forget His law or spurn His care,
And sweeter still the love that saith
   With every breath,
"Lord, make me faithful unto death."