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Swift sailing clouds, like passing dreams, 

 Some dark, some tipped with silvery beams. 



Move on in long array ; 

 Oft they obscure yon little star, 

 With radiance mild that shines afar, 



Like Hope mid Life s dismay. 



Sacred to mystery and to love, 



Fair Night ! thou canst each bosom move 



In sweetest thought ; to thee, 

 In grief, each charg-ed heart 

 Doth love its burthen to impart, 



And claim thy sympathy. 



The tide is low on SHREWSBURY S shore, 

 And past is midnight s silent hour, 



And calm that silvery stream : 

 From Highland s brow the beacons twin 

 With glowing eye, like Cyclops grim, 



Send forth their warning gleam. 



Send forth their rays far into gloom, 

 To light the weary seaman home : 

 So, o er life s troubled sea, 



