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Yes, take thy station here, 
Thou flower so pale and fair ! 
That I from thee may sweetest lessons borrow; 
For thou hast that to tell, 
Methinks, which suiteth well 
The lingering hours of languishment and sorrow. * 
The cleft rock is thy home, 
Yet sweetly dost thou bloom, 
E’en while the threatening winds are round thee swelling; 
And where’s the pamper’d flower 
Can richer fragrance shower 
Than thou, fair blossom, from thy storm-wrought dwelling ? 
Say, then, though pale decay 
Wear youth and health away, 
Shall sighs alone this troubled breast be heaving ? 
Oh no ! I ’ll bless the chain 
Which to this couch of pain 
Has bound me long, for’t is of mercy’s weaving. 
What though I tread no more 
The temple’s hallow’d floor, 
Whence to our God the full-voiced hymn ascendeth; 
Thoughts in sickness. 
