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188 AN ENGLISH VERSION OP
A judge hast thou been,
Of sight clear and keen,
To discern the right from wrong ;
Who truth would not wrest,
But do what was just,
To all whether weak or strong ?
Or justice hast sold,
For an handful of gold,
To such as in place were high ;
And abandoned the poor,
To tyranny sure
ho could not thy favours buy ?
If thou didst do so.
And justice forego,
And crooked the straight didst make ;
As surely as death
Did take thee from earth,
Thou wast cast to the brimstone lake.
Or had'st thou great skill
Diseases to heal, —
All kinds of maladies sore ;
Proclaiming thy power.
As matchless to cure,
And snatch us from death's very door ?
Alas, that thy skill
Forsook thee when ill,
When assailed by thy malady sore ;
No plaster could ease,
Nor heal thy disease.
Or keep thee from death for an hour.

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