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28                STEVENSON'S POEMS
THIS gloomy northern day, Or this yet gloomier night, Has moved a something high In my cold heart; and I, That do not often pray, Would pray to-night.
And first on Thee I call
For bread, O God of might ! Enough of bread for all,—
That through the famished town Cold hunger may lie down With none to-night
I pray for hope no less, Strong-sinewed hope, O Lord, That to the struggling young May preach with brazen tongue Stout Labour, high success, And bright reward.
And last, O Lord, I pray
For hearts resigned and bold To trudge the dusty way—
Hearts stored with song and joke And wanner than a cloak Against the cold.