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LXXXVI
Death, thy servant, is at my door. He has crossed the
unknown sea and brought thy call to my home.
The night is dark and my heart is fearful yet I will take up the
lamp, open my gates and bow to him my welcome. It is thy messenger
who stands at my door.
I will worship him placing at his feet the treasure of my heart.
He will go back with his errand done, leaving a dark shadow on my
morning; and in my desolate home only my forlorn self will remain as
my last fiering to thee.
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