AH, master! art thou gone?
Then Beauty's lonely left;
Truth widowed and bereft
In weeds now walks alone.
Nay, nay, he is not gone,
Nor Beauty lonely left,
Nor is God's Truth bereft;
True work for aye goes on.
Since this great soul has been
The mountain grander towers,
The river's rush o'erpowers,
And Nature dwells with men;
The songs of birds are sweeter,
And e'en the sunshine brighter,
Life's burdens all are lighter,
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