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Barber, Samuel - Let down the bars, O Death

 
Let down the bars, O Death!
 
Let down the bars, O Death!
The tired flocks come in
Whose bleating ceases to repeat,
Whose wandering is done.
 
Thine is the stillest night,
Thine the securest fold;
Too near thou art for seeking thee,
Too tender to be told.
 
 

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