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That peace—but who may claim it?
The guileless in their way,
Who keep the ranks of battle,
Who mean the things they say:
The peace that is for heaven,
And shall be too, for earth:
The palace that re-echoes
With festal song and mirth;
The garden, breathing spices,
The paradise on high;
Grace beautified to glory,
Unceasing minstrelsy.
There nothing can be feeble,
There none can ever mourn,
There nothing is divided,
There nothing can be torn.
'Tis fury, ill, and scandal,
'Tis peaceless peace below;
Peace, endless, strifeless, ageless,
The halls of Syon know.
O happy, holy portion,
Refection for the blest;
True vision of true beauty,
Sweet cure of all distrest!

STRIVE, man, to win that glory,
Toil, man, to gain that light;
Send hope before to grasp it,

Till hope be lost in sight: