I Made the cross myself whose weight
  Was later laid on me.
This thought is torture as I toil
  Up life’s steep Calvary.

To think mine own hands drove the nails!
  I sang a merry song,
And chose the heaviest wood I had
  To build it firm...

Between the sandhills and the sea
  A narrow strip of silver sand,
  Whereon a little maid doth stand,
Who picks up shells continually,
Between the sandhills and the sea.

Far as her wondering eyes can reach,
  A vastness heaving gray in gray...

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