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Then she will be mine my angel she shall be. When out of torment’s iron hold, I long to see salvation near, I cling for so have I been told To one hope still remaining dear. May still I hope I cannot pray That pity feel might angel-wife? Then will I praise this happy day, When o’er, at last, this woeful strife. Though hope has died, and left no trace, I hope again for joy and grace.