"Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God."
I ASKED the angels in my prayer,
With bitter tears and pains,
To show mine eyes the kingdom where
The Lord of glory reigns.
I said, My way with doubt is dim,
My heart is sick with fear;
Oh come, and help me build to Him
A tabernacle here I
The storms of sorrow wildly beat,
The clouds with death are chill;
I long to hear His voice so sweet,
Who whispered, "Peace; be still I "
The angels said, God giveth you
His love, — what more is ours ?
And even as the gentle dew
Descends upon the flowers,
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