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The scene is closed.—
The winds, and sea, and sky, are still and bright,
And nature looks all glorious, as the morn
Comes gladly forth, as if no heart was cold,
No spirit broken, no bright eye sealed up
In ever-during darkness,—none consigned
To wet and weary watching for the form
It never more will rest on. These shall mourn
As if nor light nor joy remained on earth;
Yet nature, with her melody and bloom,
Shall hold her course rejoicing, no more moved
That his proud ship is lost, than if a swarm
Of painted insects had been swept away
By chilly night-winds.
Even the mourners' hearts—
Ay, these will cease to throb. Oh, earth! Oh, life!
Who could endure your ills, your bitter pangs,
Your heartless apathy and fickleness,
With the eternal shipwreck of your hopes,
But for the steady light of Faith, which beams
Upon the Holy Page, reflecting thence
Hope, peace, and consolation, which no gloom
Amongst the shadows of this opaque earth
Can ever quench! Oh! not the cloud that lies
O'er death's lone valley, or the fearful shade
That wraps the impenetrable eve of Time,

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And hides the dayspring of Eternity,
Can cloud the beam of Faith. Oh! gloriously
'Twill light the spirit, in the dreadful wreck
Of this stupendous ship—the peopled earth.