The Younger Angels

See where a spirit-race

Bursts on the sight!
Dimly their forms I trace

Round the far height.
Each cloud becometh clear,
While the bright troops appear

Of the blest boys,

From the Earth’s burden free,
In a glad company

Drinking in joys,
Born of the world above,

Springtime and bliss.
May they forerunners prove
Of a more perfect love,

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