So fallen! so lost! the light withdrawn Which once he wore; The glory from his gray hairs gone For evermore!
Blow, bugles of battle, the marches of peace; East, west, north, and south let the long quarrel cease; Sing the song of great joy that the angels began, Sing the glory to God and of good-will to man!
What miracle of weird transforming Is this wild work of frost and light, This glimpse of glory infinite?
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