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MOTHER MARY
METHINKS the Blessèd was content, her journey overpast,
Amid the drowsy, wondering kine on lowly bed to lie:
To dream in pensive thankfulness, and happy days forecast,
While over her the Star of Hope waxed brighter in the sky.
And yet, methinks in Bethlehem her spirit had been lone
But for the tender new-born joy that in her arms she bore,—
Ay, even though with gifts of gold and many a precious stone
Great kings had knelt with shepherd-folk about her stable door.
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