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Hear, Shepherd!- thou who for thy flock art dying, 0, wash away these scarlet sins, for thou Rejoicest at the contrite sinner's vow. 0, wait !- to thee my weary soul is crying, Wait for me! — Yet why ask it, when I see, With feet nailed to the cross, thou 'rt waiting still
FROM THE SPANISH OF LOPE DE VEGA.
LORD, what am I, that, with unceasing care,
that I did not greet
How oft my guardian angel gently cried, “Soul, from thy casement look, and thou shalt see How he persists to knock and wait for thee!” And, O! how often to that voice of sorrow, “ To-morrow we will open,” I replied, And when the morrow came I answered still,“ To
THE NATIVE LAND.
FROM THE SPANISH OF FRANCISCO DE ALDANA.
CLEAR fount of light ! my native land on high,