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"The land of Song within thee lies,
Holy thoughts, like stars, arise,
'Learn, that henceforth thy song shall be, Not mountains capped with snow, kor forest sounding like the sea, No rivers flowing ceaselessly, Where the woodlands bend to see The bending heavens below.
"There is a forest where the din
Of iron branches sounds!
A mighty iver roars between,
Sees the heavens all black with sin,
Sees not its depths, nor bounds.
"Athwart the swinging branches cast Soft rays of sunshine pour;
Then comes the fearful wintry blast;
Our hopes, like withered leaves, fall fast; Pallid lips say,' It is past!
We can return no more!'
* Look, then, into thine heart, and write!
All forms of sorrow and delight,