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[321] The stern behest of duty,
     The doom-book open thrown,
The heaven ye seek, the hell ye fear,
     Are with yourselves alone. “

A gold and purple sunset
     Flowed down the broad Moselle;
On hills of vine and meadow lands
     The peace of twilight fell.

A slow, cool wind of evening
     Blew over leaf and bloom;
And, faint and far, the Angelus
     Rang from Saint Matthew's tomb.

Then up rose Master Echard,
     And marvelled: “Can it be
That here, in dream and vision,
     The Lord hath talked with me?”

He went his way; behind him
     The shrines of saintly dead,
The holy coat and nail of cross,
     He left unvisited.

He sought the vale of Eltzbach
     His burdened soul to free,
Where the foot-hills of the Eifel
     Are glassed in Laachersee.

And, in his Order's kloster,
     He sat, in night-long parle,

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