1 Dread Mother of forgetfulness Who, when Thy reign begins, Wipest away the soul's distress And memory of her sins. 2 The trusty Worm that diest not– The steadfast Fire also, By thy contrivance are forgot In a completer woe. 3 Thine are the lidless eyes of night That stare upon our tears, Through certain hours which in our sight Exceed a thousand years. 4 Thine is the thickness of the Dark That presses in our pain, As Thine the Dawn that bids us mark Life's grinning face again. 5 Thine is the weariness outworn No promise shall relieve, That says at eve, "Would God 'twere morn!" At morn, "Would God 'twere eve!" 6 And when thy tender mercies cease And life unvexed is due, Instant upon the false release The Worm and Fire renew. 7 Wherefore we praise Thee in the deep, And on our beds we pray For Thy return, that Thou may'st keep The Pains of Hell at bay!
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