We pray for hope divine—the staff of death.
This is a scene which few companions grace,
And where the heart's first favourites yield their place.
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Here all the aid of man to man must end,
Here mounts the soul to her eternal Friend;
The tenderest love must here its tie resign,
And give th' aspiring heart to love divine.
Men feel their weakness, and to numbers run,
Themselves to strengthen, or themselves to shun;