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he sat, and wept.—That very night The ambassador of God, with earnest zeal Of eloquence had warn'd him to repent,— And like the Roman at Drusilla's side Hearing the truth, he trembled.—Conscience wrought, And sin allur'd. The struggle shook him sore. The dim lamp wan'd, the hour of midnight toll'd; Prayer sought for entrance,—but the heart had clos'd Its diamond valve. He threw him on his couch, And bade the spirit of his God depart. —But there was war within him, and he sigh'd "Depart not utterly, thou Blessed One! Return when youth is past, and make my soul Forever thine." With kindling brow he trod The haunts of pleasure, while the viol's voice And Beauty's smile his fluttering pulses woke. To Love he knelt, and on his brow she hung Her freshest myrtle-wreath. For gold he sought, And winged Wealth indulg'd him,—till the world Pronounc'd him happy. Manhood's vigorous prime Swell'd to its climax, and his busy days And restless nights swept like a tide away. When lo!—a message from the Crucified, "Look unto me, and live." But Care had struck Deep root around him,—and its countless shoots Still striking earthward like the Indian tree Barr'd out, with woven shades, the eye of Heaven. —Twice warn'd, he ponder'd:—then impatient spake