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I see my way as birds their trackless way. I shall arrive, - what time, what circuit first, I ask not. but unless God send his hail Or blinding fire-balls, sleet or stifling snow, In some time, his good time, I shall arrive. He guides me and the bird. In his good time. When the fight begins within himself, A man's worth something. God! Thou art love, I build my faith on that. One who never turned his back, but marched breast forward, Never doubted clouds would break, Never dreamed, tho' right were worsted, wrong would triumph, Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better, Sleep to wake. |
| Robert Browning. |
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