Page:Songs of the Affections.pdf/173

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A fit abode, wherein appear enshrined Our hopes of immortality.

low!—the place is holy to the breath Of awful harmonies, of whisper'd prayer; Tread lightly!—for the sanctity of death Broods with a voiceless influence on the air: Stern, yet serene!—a reconciling spell, Each troubled billow of the soul to quell.

Leave me to linger silently awhile! —Not for the light that pours its fervid streams