Chapter XXXIX
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About his paths the tall swift angels are,
Whose motion is like music but more sweet;
The centuries for him their gates unbar;
He hears the stars their _Glorias_ repeat;
And in high moments when the fervid soul
Burns white with love, lo! on his gaze replete
The Vision of the Godhead shall unroll--
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Seaward: An Elegy on the Death of Thomas William ParsonsChapter XXXIX
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