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Dost thou think of bright immortals,
Past into the spirit land ? Dost thou, through its dazzling portals,
See the white rob'd millions stand ?
O ! 'tis sweet, as shades are stealing
O'er the earth and o'er the sky— All those splendid orbs revealing,
Which bestud the arch on high ; It is sweet then to be dreaming
Of that fairer, holier clime, Whose immortal light is streaming
O'er the shadowy bounds of time.
It is well, when we are weary,
That the power to us is given, To look up, through shadows dreary,
To the blessed clime of heaven. Let us live, so live, that ever
Heaven's bright gates may be in view, And, when life's worn bands may sever,
We shall pass triumphant through.
She died as the first violets wak'd to life, While woods with Spring notes ringing, And brooklets wildly singing,
Made all with beauty, joy, and music rife.