Page:Poems Kimball.djvu/145

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HIM THAT COMETH TO ME.
127
The sense of pardon filling all the soul
    Washed clean at last;
The grace that follows with its sweet control
    The shame o'erpast!

To win thee sorrowing to His glad embrace
    How hath He striven!
Oh, hear His Voice—couldst thou but see Face!—
    Thou art forgiven!