O! golden Hereafter, thine every bright rafter
Will shake in the thunder of sanctified song;
And every swift angel proclaim an evangel,
To summon Godâ??s saints to the glorified throng. ...
Rolling downward, through the midnight,
Comes a glorious burst of heav-nly song;
-Tis a chorus full of sweetness-
And the singers are an angel throng. ...
I'm ceded-I've stopped being Theirs-
The name They dropped upon my face
With water, in the country church
Is finished using, now,
And They can put it with my Dolls,
My childhood, and the string of spools,
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