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THE CROSS
There is a cross on 101
Blazing in pure light
Filling up the travelers
Who pass in darkest night...
The cross is wood and ragged
Through years of bearing pain
It stands upon a little mound
Like a shelter from the rain...
You can see the cross out to sea
With bearings for the few
who fish upon the wildest seas
In league with what they do...
The cross is like a beacon
A lighthouse you can test,
It shines believe, faith, cannot leave
The cross is where we rest...
from Seashore Rambles
by William Dwinell
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