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When the gold and the purple lie tarnished, and the light is gone out in her halls,
And she sees the last slave, freed from fetters, walk out by her pitiful walls;

Though late comes the signal of promise, when the horse and the rider shall reel,
And slow with the hope of the ages, comes the roll of God's chariot-wheel;
Yet sure as God's heaven above us, on the glittering scroll shall be read,
“The days of thy kingdom are numbered,” and our last armed foe shall be dead.

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