98. Flowers without Fruit
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{169}
PRUNE thou thy words, the thoughts control |
| That o'er thee swell and throng; |
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They will condense within thy soul, |
| And change to purpose strong. |
But he who lets his feelings run |
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In soft luxurious flow,
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| Shrinks when hard service must be done, |
| And faints at every woe. |
Faith's meanest deed more favour bears, |
| Where hearts and wills are weigh'd, |
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Than brightest transports, choicest prayers, |
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Which bloom their hour and fade.
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Off Sardinia.
June 20, 1833.
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