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THE TWO VILLAGES.
All around it the forest trees
Whisper and shiver in the breeze;
Over the river, under the hill,
And in the roads no grasses grow,
For the wheels that hasten to and fro.
In that village on the hill
Never is sound of smithy or mill;
The houses are thatched with grass and flowers;
Never a clock to tell the hours;
The marble doors are always shut;
You cannot enter in hall or hut;
In that village under the hill,
And, weeping and sighing, wants to go
LIFT up your heads, ye gates! swing wide
Forth let the Filial Godhead ride
On wings of cherubim up-borne.
Nor dare, thou flushed and flattered East,
On mountain tops bright heralds stand
The certain tidings glad and sweet.
He comes! The sky is all on fire,