To—- by Frances Anne Kemble

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WHO FELL FROM A PRECIPICE INTO A MOUNTAIN TORRENT.

What said to thee those angels terrible,
Whose sudden pinions swept thee from our sight,
When o’er us all the awful horror fell,
That turned thy mid-day sunshine into night?
What mysteries ineffable and dread
Flashed in that aching moment o’er thy soul,
While with thee, ‘twixt the living and the dead,
Our spirits hung, ‘neath God’s supreme control?
‘Look on me, I am Life!’ one angel cried—
‘Love me, and use me well, I yet am thine!’
‘Look on me, I am Death!’ his peer replied—
‘Forget me nevermore, thou must be mine!’
Oh, snatched from Death! may death to thee appear
Henceforth familiar, from all terrors free:
Oh, given back to Life!—be life more dear,
Holier and happier, from this hour to thee.

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