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The lingering beam of twilight dies,
And canst thou whisper where 'tis fled?
There was a glow in summer skies,
Where was that rosy lustre shed?
The sweetness of the evening dews,
Their fragrance how do they diffuse?

And tell me, spring's first tender flower,
How does it burst its icy sheath?
The zephyrs on their winged hour,
What spirit bids them freshly breathe?
If nature's secrets be not thine,
How then the human soul divine?

Go! bend to God! and leave to him
The mystery of thy brother's heart,
Nor vainly think his faith is dim,
Because in thine it hath no part:
He too is mortal, and, like thee,
Would soar to immortality.

And if, in duty's hallowed sphere,
Like thee he meekly, humbly bends,
With hands unstained, and conscience clear,
With life's temptations he contends,
O! leave him that unbroken rest,
The peace that shrines a virtuous breast.