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A VISION OF POETS.
"Glory to God!" resumed he,—
And his eyes smiled for victory
O'er their own tears, which I could see

Fallen on the palm, down cheek and chin—
"That poet now hath entered in
The place of rest which is not sin.

"And while he rests, his songs, in troops,
Walk up and down our earthly slopes,
Companioned by diviner Hopes."

"But thou," I murmured,—to engage
The child's speech farther—"hast an age
Too tender for this orphanage."

"Glory to God—to God! " he saith—
"Knowledge by suffering entereth;
And Life is perfected by Death!"