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FAINT HEART.
WHY was I born, ye angels ? was it well?
Ye might have killed me, such a little thing !
And I had been in Heaven all this while,
And missed mine heritage of suffering.
Would it have been a loss ? I cannot tell ;
God knows.
Why cry and moan ? what matters anything ?
Why vex the quiet air with vain complaints ?
The army of immortals marches on,
And must not tarry, though one, footsore, faints ;
Would it be better if another stayed ?
God knows.
