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THE FASHION OF THIS WORLD PASSETH.
Told how the mind of godlike power
May pass away.
Of Earth I asked, with deep surprise,
Hast thou no more enduring grace,
To lure thy trusting votaries
Along their toil-worn, shadowy race!
She answered not,—the grave replied,
"Lo! to my sceptre's silent sway
Her boasted beauty, pomp and pride,
Must pass away."
