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By its own law dissolve, when circling years
Have finished, one by one, its shifting scenes,
And sundered far the hearts once closely knit;
All ends not here. Hath not the Master said
That in his Father's House, for loving souls
Are many mansions, whither safely led,
And made one family, they shall with Him
Their Elder Brother dwell, for ever one?
There the great anti-typal palace waits,
Thronged with the sons and daughters of our God
Made like unto the angels; and the feet
Of all the pure in heart shall thither come.

  O mortal! whatsoe'er thy lot hath been,
If, half bewildered, thou hast seemed to stray
A homeless wanderer o'er a barren waste,
If one that much hath loved and much hath lost,
Or one that loveth much, and much doth fear
What most he loves to lose; let thy stilled soul
Repose itself in peace. Though on thy head
Fierce tempests frequent beat, and all too oft