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of a future time! O prospect glorious and sublime! The peoples from the dark gulfs spring, The desert sands forlorn are past, The green sward spreads beneath at last, And earth and sky their bridals sing!

E'en now the eye that high up-towers The bright dream sees—no shadow lowers Upon it, though so far away; For snapped shall be each galling chain: The Past was Hate,—is o'er his reign, Thy name is Love, thou coming Day.

E'en now amid our sorrows dark, The germ of Union lights its spark, Men shall be brothers.—Thus God wills. At dawn the humble bee awakes, From poison flowers its honey makes, And so works Progress with our ills.