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Go, troubled one; read how that radiant band
Lit Jacob's dream, near Haran's lonely land.
The sun sinks over Luz; the west grows dim;
The birds have closed their plaintive vesper hymn;
And Jacob, homeless stranger, sore distressed,
Upon his stony pillow sinks to rest.
Earth to his need no willing ear can lend,
But pitying heaven sends him many a friend;
For lo! as hushed in heavy sleep he lies,
A sudden glory blossoms in the skies;
A shining ladder rises to his view,
A gleam of gold against night's walls of blue,
And on its rounds, immaculate and bright,
Ascending and descending thro' the night,
Angelic throngs appear, whose robes are fair
As moonbeams melting on the dusky air.
The very winds in awe their whisper cease
Before that high enrapturing scene of peace.
The pilgrim now, his brow with hope serene,
In spell-bound gladness gazes on the scene.

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