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Of joy, and hope, and blessedness for all;

       No selfish pleasures fluttering before

       To woo satanic emulation forth,

       But all combining for one common weal,

       Moved still by sympathetic influence.

      How passing beautiful must they not be,

       Thus dower'd with Virtue's highest attributes,

       That from the spiritual springeth up

       A living fount of light and loveliness.

       Soul is the life of Beauty, as the sun

       Is of the universe it luminates.

       O what were matter, fashioned ne'er so fair,

       But for the beaming of that quenchless light

       That plays around it, like the radiance

       Of heaven's own glory stamped upon its work?

       What were the charm of the soft arching brow

       White as the snow-flake 'neath its golden braid?

       What were the dimpled cheek with roseate shades

       Spread o'er it like the budding of a flower,

       The lips' ripe crimson, and the melting eye,

       Unbrightened by the sunshine from within,

       The emanations of seraphic thought,

       And full emotion, kindling into life

       Light, grace, the temple that they glorify?

       Oh Death! when thou dost bear the soul away

       The charm is shattered—the illusion gone!

       Ay, they are beautiful, and as bright forms

       Make fair the mirrors that they image in,

       So are their courses glorious and glad.

       Still doth their swelling harmony ascend

       In thrilling cadence to the gates of heaven,

       Making the air about them sweet with joy,

       As summer's breath with floral incense fumes;

       And every echo learns the words of love,

       And wonders at its sweet deliciousness,

       Repeating o'er and o'er the honied tones

       Till they infuse into their secret souls.

      O ye bright orbs! your shining would be dimmed

       By sin and all its pallid consequence,

       Till scarce a glimmer fluttered on the sky

       To 'lume the dreamer to your sadden'd sphere.

       But ye have held your priceless birthright sure,

       And walk among the panoply of heaven,

       Clear and true-hearted as the sons of God.

       Yet may we gaze upon you from afar

       As the unstained gaze on the innocent,

       Lovely and peerless in their purity,

       Smitten and wondering with humbleness

       Of that which is your everlasting dower;

       Quenching within us pride and earthliness

       Before the glance of your serenity;

       Aspiring ever for the spirit life,

       That casting off this fleshly tenement,

       With all its weakness and infirmities,

       Entereth on the cycle of the just,

       Unstained, immortal, glorious and strong!

Scene. A Grove—Noontide. Man.

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