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The doors on the street will be shut when the sound of the grinding is no more. One will rise up at the sound of a bird. All the daughters of song will sing very low. Men will be afraid of a high place and of fears on the road. Flowers will grow on the almond tree. The grasshopper will pull himself along. And desire will be at an end. For man will go to his home that lasts forever, while people filled with sorrow go about in the street. Remember Him before the silver rope of life is broken and the gold dish is crushed. Remember Him before the pot by the well is broken and the wheel by the water-hole is crushed.

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