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Morning Memory

by Jonathan Lovelace

What good is it to dream a weighty dream
And wake up deeply moved by what I saw,
If at the touch of sunlight the dream flees
And memory fades before the opening day?
How short the night; how fleeting are its dreams!
But praise and thanks to God, for though our lives
To him are briefer than a moment's breath,
And in that span we do not honor him
Above all else, as he justly deserves,
Our Maker yet remembers our short lives---
Far better than we mortals do ourselves---
And makes all we forget show forth his praise.

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