<h2>XXXIX</h2>
<p>Because thou hast the power and own’st the grace<br/>
To look through and behind this mask of me,<br/>
(Against which, years have beat thus blanchingly,<br/>
With their rains,) and behold my soul’s true face,<br/>
The dim and weary witness of life’s race,—<br/>
Because thou hast the faith and love to see,<br/>
Through that same soul’s distracting lethargy,<br/>
The patient angel waiting for a place<br/>
In the new Heavens,—because nor sin nor woe,<br/>
Nor God’s infliction, nor death’s neighbourhood,<br/>
Nor all which others viewing, turn to go,<br/>
Nor all which makes me tired of all, self-viewed,—<br/>
Nothing repels thee, . . . Dearest, teach me so<br/>
To pour out gratitude, as thou dost, good!</p>
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