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Let sickness pale the roseate cheek, 
And care its early lesson speak; 
Let disappointment, like a pall, 
Upon some fond hope darkly fall; 
And, oh! how soon the heart will throw 
Before His throne its first deep woe! 
’Tis then the Christian’s life begins; — 
The struggle for the prize he wins, 
Commences with the shock that first 
Doth on Be flection’s slumber burst; 
And each rude blow thereafter given, 
Uplifts the awakened soul to Heaven, 
And bids it seek for comfort there, 
In hope — in gratitude — in prayer. 
And soon — when griefs come thickening fast, 
Its anchor there ’twill firmly cast, 
A sure support, a prop to find, 
When gloom or care subdue the mind; 
