So fallen! so lost! the light withdrawn Which once he wore; The glory from his gray hairs gone For evermore!
What miracle of weird transforming Is this wild work of frost and light, This glimpse of glory infinite?
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!
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