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IF all the gentlest-hearted friends I know
Concentred in one heart their gentleness,
That still grew gentler, till its pulse was less
For life than pity,--I should yet be slow
To bring my own heart nakedly below
The palm of such a friend, that he should press
Motive, condition, means, appliances,
My false ideal joy and fickle woe,
Out full to light and knowledge. I should fear
Some plait between the brows--some rougher chime
In the free voice.... O angels, let your flood
Of bitter scorn dash on me! Do ye hear
What I say, who bear calmly all the time
This everlasting face-to-face with GOD?