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Haste to me, Lord, when this fool-heart of mine

Begins to gnaw itself with selfish craving;
Or, like a foul thing scarcely worth the saving,
Swoln up with wrath, desireth vengeance fine.
Haste, Lord, to help, when reason favours wrong;
Haste when thy soul, the high-born thing divine,
Is torn by passion’s raving, maniac throng.

GM

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musician, videographer, new media specialist, producer, imaginator

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New Song! hear the drum