And must give up their murmuring breath, The garlands wither on your brow, Then boast no more your mighty deeds; See where the victor victim bleeds: To the cold tomb, Only the actions of the just Smell sweet, and blossom in the dust. Divine Love. THIS love's a fire for ever burning, This love's a spirit ever acting, This love's a star gross hearts refining, This love's a river, ever flowing, Where we drown in love's devotion. SHIRLEY. This love is music, where the metre Then the music turns to glory. This love's a master, ever pleasing, very work is wages. ANON. Period Fourth. The Dormitive. THE night is come, like to the day; Guard me 'gainst those watchful foes, |