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AH! how shall end this life of mine
That opens without hope?
I stand, at twenty, on the line
Of manhood, and discern no sign
That plans, or human or divine,
Include me in their scope.
For though I feel that God exists, -
A God whom men call kind, -
The thought no love of Him enlists;
My heart indifferent persists;
My brain is shrouded in the mists
That cloud a doubting mind.
Despair hath now familiar grown
As any well-known friend.
My childhood's cherished hopes are flown;
Life offers me for bread a stone;
Its hours are bitter, sad, and lone, -
Alas! how shall they end?
C. H. H., '82.
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