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Euphrenia or the Test of Love

A poem by William Sharp

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17

XXVII.

At length his mind's complexion
Assumed a healthier tone;
His eyes, with hardier, prouder glance,
Around the room were thrown;
Again he sought a book's relief,
And, 'neath his hand, he found
That “Sacred Volume” on which faith
Its only hope doth ground;
He opened it; each word divine
Said to his soul “be still”:
He felt it was a talisman
To shield him from all ill.