How long wilt thou forget me, O Lord? for ever? How long wilt thou hide thy face from me? She came upon the Song of Songs—which had been pasted down in the Enschede Bible—the burning litany of love; and from time to time she intoned some verse of tender lyric beauty. The air was sweet with the smoky perfume of myrrh, hazy and dense with incense. Huge trees obscured the view of it. "But you mustn't indulge these gloomy thoughts. S.
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