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FROM JOB.

I.

A SPIRIT pass'd before me: I beheld

The face of Immortality unveil'd-
Deep sleep came down on ev'ry eye save mine-
And there it stood,--all formless—but divine:
Along my bones the creeping flesh did quake;
And as my damp hair stiffen'd, thus it spake.

II.

- Is man more just than God? Is man more pure

Than he who deems even Seraphs insecure ? Creatures of clay-vain dwellers in the dust! The moth survives you, and are ye more just ? Things of a day you wither ere the night, Heedless and blind to Wisdom's wasted light!”

THE END.

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