To One of Little Faith
Put out the mourners from your heart
And bid your still soul rise.
It is not death, but only sleep
That fastens down your eyes.
Return, oh Galilean days,
Judean hands, return!
Make bloom the lily in the ash
Of this neglected urn.
And bid your still soul rise.
It is not death, but only sleep
That fastens down your eyes.
Return, oh Galilean days,
Judean hands, return!
Make bloom the lily in the ash
Of this neglected urn.
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