[Written for the Sentinel.]


Begone , ye tinseled treasuresThat fade in morning's light!Pass on, ye paltry pleasuresOf days that die at night.He gives, the great good Giver,The day that dieth never,The day no dark can sever,The life that knows no blight.

Into that deathless dawningHe leads all weary feet—Far in where all is morning,Leads on to life complete—Leads on to inward gloryWhere love's low offertorySings o'er and o'er the storyThe wearied heart finds sweet;

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