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GLASTONBURY
"Gods of the burnt-out hearth, the wandered wind,Gods of pale dawns that vanished long ago,Gods of the barren tree, the withered leaf,The faded flower, and the ungarnered sheaf,Gods half-forgot in the wild ages' flowYours, yours am I, that all for nought have sinned."
Spring, summer passed away, and autumn rainSwelled the lean brooks, until the gelid yearShot forth its icy hand, and grasped again.Again the hanging clouds were struck and furledBy winds of winter, until skies were clear,And there was frost o' nights, and all the worldLay glistening to the newly risen sun.
Till came that season, wherein solemn daysDo celebrate the reign on earth begunOf the most blessèd Child, whenas all waysWere bound, and all the fields were white with snow.Then in the chapel at high noon they threeOffered their quiet orisons and soCame forth and looked upon the purity,And when he saw the fields all stainless-whiteLancelot groaned in spirit, and spake: "How soreAnd no wise joyous to a sinner's sightIs this dear land, where the snow lies untrod.Even so once before the eyes of GodMy soul lay all unspotted; now no more."
"Courage, my son, and patience," quoth the sage;No sin there is, that shall not lose its stainThrough the great love of God, and His dear Son,Repent and be forgiven: know that noneShall sue before His throne, and sue in vain,Nor shall one name be blotted from the pageIf he that bears it turn to prayer and tears."

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