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Blest be the eye which lives that day to see! The grave may wrap me ere its glorious sun;
Even, Father, as Thou wilt; but Thou art He That sees the sparrow perish from thy throne. Father, in life or death, thy sovereign will be done.
Ye stars, bright legions, that, before all time,
Camped on yon plain of sapphire, what shall tell Your burning myriads, but the eye of Him
Who bade through heaven your golden chariots wheel?
Yet who, earthborn, can see your hosts, nor feel Immortal impulses. Eternity!
What wonder if the o'erwrought soul shall reel With its own weight of thought, and the wild eye See fate within your tracks of sleepless glory lie?
For behold the MIGHTIEST.
From that steep, What ages have ye worshipped round your King ! Ye heard his trumpet sounded o’er the sleep
Of earth; ye heard the morning angels sing.
The wanderers of the deluge saw it spring
O, LISTEN, man!
Man, thou shalt never die!" Celestial voices
Of morning sung together, sound forth still
Ay, thou art welcome, heaven's delicious breath!
When woods begin to wear the crimson leaf,
And suns grow meek, and the meek suns grow brief,
In the gay woods and in the golden air,-
Might wear out life, like thee, 'mid bowers and brooks,
And, dearer yet, the sunshine of kind looks,
And, when my last sand twinkled in the glass,