Little things

When the stars aren’t bright

When darkness steals the light

When Hymn is called

In the ears of trust

And of loveable sight

I would forget little things

For something brought anew

I would clear up the stage

And foretell a song true

My belief, Oft a string

Of pure leather, white apiece

Cascading round the blue vent

Clear as marble, chalk or limestone

The crimson throne.

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