| First to speak |
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| Wide o'er the waters rose a wail of woe |
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| No sooner came |
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| How changed from that bright orb |
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| Midst this fiery woe |
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| A Voice then spake |
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| Morn, like a maiden glancing o'er her pearls |
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| God said; responsive silence caught the words |
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| These, by divine permission, to myself |
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| So Wisdom made her favourite wise of heart |
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