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 Thou feel'st in mystic rapture O Bride that know'st no guile, The Prince's sweetest kisses, The Prince's loveliest smile: Unfading lilies, bracelets Of living pearl thine own: The is ever near thee, The Bridegroom thine alone: The Crown is He to guerdon, The Buckler to protect, And He Himself the Mansion, And He the Architect. The only art thou needest, Thanksgiving for thy lot: The only joy thou seekest, The Life where Death is not: And all thine endless leisure In sweetest accents sings, The ill that was thy merit,— The wealth that is thy King's!