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EASTER EVE.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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124

EASTER EVE.

Lo, now His deadliest foes prevail!
And where His bleeding footsteps fail,
Like wolves upon a victim's trail,
They gloat, in purple mockery, “Hail!”
O cloud! O regal vesture torn!
O shadow on the shoulders borne!
O diadem!—one starry thorn
Shall blossom into Easter morn!