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WESTMINSTER ABBEY. 213
She strikes her gong, and with a ceaseless tread Circleth thy time-scathed walls. But stern and still. Thou bear st the chafing of her mighty tide, In silence brooding o er thy secret pride,
The moveless soldiers of thy citadel ;
Yet wide to Heaven thy trusting arms dost spread, Thine only watchword, God! God and the sacred dead!
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