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The White Dove And The Snow
The quickly melting snow ran through the street,The busy street, where man so often treads
Thinking on earthly things, careworn and sad;
And there a milk-white dove drank eagerly,
As if it blessed the heaven-descended stream.
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How unto these the Lord giveth to drink,
E'en on the crowded city's dusty ways,
Of those clear streams which from His golden throne
Forever flow! Why thoughtless pass we by
Those crystal streams, that ever downward flow
To cool our thirsty, feverish spirits
In their daily toil, and make us think of Him?
The world's loud, turbid flood will soon run dry,
And we be left without one cooling draught.
Poem No. 547; 16 March 1846
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