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Song.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


48

Song.

[In the dead of silent night]

In the dead of silent night
Sad Philander weeping lay,
When a Form, divinely bright,
Entring, thus was heard to say;
Wit, and bloom, and beauty, laid
In the dust, lament no more;
Look aloft on Delia's Shade,
Wasted to the blissful shore.
Angels, her Companions there,
Watch'd the hour when hence she flew;
Angels, gazing on the Fair,
Sing like Her, and love like You.