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"Soul, from thy casement look, and thou shalt
How he persists to knock and wait for thee!" And, O! how often to that voice of sorrow, "To-morrow we will open," I replied,
And when the morrow came I answered still, "To-morrow."
THE NATIVE LAND.
FROM THE SPANISH OF FRANCISCO DE ALDANA.
CLEAR fount of light! my native land on high,
The exiled spirit weeps and sighs for thee! Heavenward the bright perfections I adore Direct, and the sure promise cheers the way, That, whither love aspires, there shall my dwelling be.
O LORD! that seest, from yon starry height Centred in one the future and the past, Fashioned in thine own image, see how fast The world obscures in me what once was
Eternal Sun! the warmth which thou hast
To cheer life's flowery April, fast decays;
Yet, in the hoary winter of my days,
Forever green shall be my trust in Heaven.
Celestial King! O let thy presence pass