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Thine eyes, in Heaven of heart enshrined,
Then desolately fall,
O God! on my funereal mind
Like starlight on a pall—
Thy heart-thy heart!-I wake and sigh,
And sleep to dream till day
Of the truth that gold can never buy—
Of the baubles that it may.
What though that light, thro' storm and night,
So trembled from afar
What could there be more purely bright
In Truth's day-star?