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Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty !.
sky and sea.
God in three persons, blessed Trinity!
FIRST SUNDAY AFTER TRINITY.
Room for the proud! Ye sons of clay,
His chariot wheels before!
Lo! with what scorn his lofty eye
Far from his palace door!
Room for the proud! but slow the feet
Who purple lately wore !
Ah! where must now his spirit fly
Room for the proud! in ghastly state The lords of hell his coming wait, And flinging wide the dreadful gate,
That shuts to ope no more,
« Lo here with us the seat,” they cry, “ For him who mock'd at poverty, And bade intruding conscience fly
Far from his palace door!”
FOR THE SAME.
The feeble pulse, the gasping breath,
The clenched teeth, the glazed eye, Are these thy sting, thou dreadful death!
O grave, are these thy victory ?
The mourners by our parting bed,
The wife, the children weeping nigh, The dismal pageant of the dead,
These, these are not thy victory!
But, from the much-loved world to part,
Our lust untamed, our spirit high, All nature struggling at the heart,
Which, dying, feels it dare not die !
To dream through life a gaudy dream
Of pride and pomp and luxury, Till waken'd by the nearer gleam
Of burning, boundless agony;