As froth, as foam

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As froth on the face of the deep, 
   As foam on the crest of the sea, 
As dreams at the waking of sleep,
   As gourd of a day and a night, 
As harvest that no man shall reap, 
   As vintage that never shall be, 
Is hope if it cling not aright
   O my God, unto thee. 

Christina Rossetti 

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