Slowly up silent peaks, the white edge of the world,
Trod four archangels, clear against the unheeding sky,
Bearing, with quiet even steps, and great wings furled,
A little dingy coffin; where a child must lie,
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God's little pitiful Body lying, worn and thin, And curled up like some crumpled, lonely flower-petal - Till it was no more visible; then turned again With sorrowful quiet faces downward to the plain. original and strange thinking., , , , tony