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Lo! darkness bends down like a mother of grief
On the limitless plain, and the fall of her hair
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Lo! darkness bends down like a mother of grief
On the limitless plain, and the fall of her hair
It has mantled a world.
These false pretexts and varnished colours failing,
Rare in thy guilt how foul must thou appear.
These false pretexts and varnished colours failing,
Rare in thy guilt how foul must thou appear.
He who flees from trial confesses his guilt.
[Lat., Fatetur facinus is qui judicum fugit.]
He who flees from trial confesses his guilt.
[Lat., Fatetur facinus is qui judicum fugit.]
Every guilty person is his own hangman.
Every guilty person is his own hangman.
The guilty think all talk is of themselves
The guilty think all talk is of themselves
Guilt is the source of sorrow, 'tis the fiend,Th' avenging fiend, that follows us behindWith whips and stings.
Guilt is the source of sorrow, 'tis the fiend,Th' avenging fiend, that follows us behindWith whips and stings.
Darkness of slumber and death, forever sinking and sinking.
Darkness of slumber and death, forever sinking and sinking.
Every man is guilty of all the good he didn't do.
Every man is guilty of all the good he didn't do.