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262 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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Some were sick with the surfeiture of pleasure,
Some were bowed beneath a care-encumbered breast; But they all trod in turn Life's stately measure,
And all paused betimes to wonder, "Is there Rest?"
Look, O man ! to the limitless Hereafter,
When thy Sense shall be lifted from its dust, When thy Anguish shall be melted into Laughter,
When thy Love shall be severed from its Lust. Then thy spirit shall be sanctified with seeing
The Ultimate dim Thule of the Blest, And the passion-haunted fever of thy being
Shall be drifted in a Universe of Rest. |
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