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Walter Stuck

Why soul so brilliant once, now cloaked so pale
The song-bird's voice so sad, muted in the misty air.
The new-born spring breeze now an angry gale
Each maiden's smiling countenance no longer fair.
Yet I can hear my heart proclaim each mortal must
A captive be until again transformed to dust.
Than only shall he, and that alone by loving grace
Eternally behold what so longed for, cast his gaze
In endless joy adore, behold His Maker's sacred face.