  Broken and bruised by the hand of Fate, Dark night, my staff, Leaning on its shadowy strength I walk Toward thee, my God. Thy crescent my e'er-present friend; Thy wind, thy voice, Calls me to go on without end To thy star that my soul hath seen. The hour is black, my road unbuilt; My beggar's song I cannot sing; yet, thou knowest, For thy love I long! I come, O Lord! broken and battered To thy world where sorrow is not. |
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