Keep me, Lord, with thee. I call from out the dark–

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Hear in thy light, of which I am a spark.
I know not what is mine and what is thine–
Of branch and stem I miss the differing mark–
But if a mere hair’s-breadth me separateth,
That hair’s-breadth is eternal, infinite death.
For sap thy dead branch calls, O living vine!

GM

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