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TO TIRZAH.

WHATE ER is born of Mortal Birth
Must be consumèd with the earth,
To rise from generation free:
Then what have I to do with thee?

The sexes sprang from shame and pride,
Blown in the morn, in evening died;
But mercy changed death into sleep;
The sexes rose to work and weep.

Thou, mother of my mortal part,
With cruelty didst mould my heart,
And with false self-deceiving tears
Didst bind my nostrils, eyes, and ears,

Didst close my tongue in senseless clay, And me to mortal life betray.

The death of Jesus set me free:

Then what have I to do with thee?

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