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A Song.
by John Carr (Sir)When stormy show'rs from Heav'n descend,
And with their weight the lily bend,
The Sun will soon his aid bestow,
And drink the drops that laid it low.
Oh! thus, when sorrow wrings the heart,
A sigh may rise, a tear may start;
Pity shall soon the face impress
With all its looks of happiness.