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461.

L. M.

Goethe.

Even-Tide.

O’er silent field and lonely lawn

Her dusky mantle night hath drawn;

At twilight’s holy, heartfelt hour,

In man his better soul hath power.

The passions are at peace within,

And stilled each stormy thought of sin;

The yielding bosom, overawed,

Breathes love to man, and love to God.

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