And then the drear sharp tongue of prophecy,
With the dread sense of things which shall be done,
Doth smite me inly, like a sword: a sword?
That "smites the Shepherd." Then, I think aloud
The words "despised,"-"rejected,"-every word
Recoiling into darkness as I view
The Darling on my knee.
Bright angels,-move not-lest ye stir t
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