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theology, which would puzzle the rudest peasant. We have observed several pages which do not contain a single word of more than two syllables. Yet no writer has said more exactly what he meant to say. For magnificence, for pathos, for vehement exhortation, for subtle disquisition, for every purpose of the poet, the orator, and the divine, this homely dialect, the dialect of plain working men, was perfectly sufficient. There is no book in our literature on which we would so readily stake the fame of the unpolluted English language, no book which shows so well how rich that language is in its own proper wealth, and how little it has been improved Macaulay. by all that it has borrowed.
THE LAST MAN.
ALL worldly shapes shall melt in gloom,
The sun himself must die,
Before this mortal shall assume
I saw a vision in my sleep
That gave my spirit strength to sweep
I saw the last of human mould,
The sun's eye had a sickly glare,
Around that lonely man!
In plague and famine some!
Earth's cities had no sound nor tread;
To shores where all was dumb!
Yet, prophet-like, that lone one stood,
That shook the sere leaves from the wood
As if a storm pass'd by
Saying, We are twins in death, proud sun, Thy face is cold, thy race is run,
'Tis mercy bids thee go;
For thou ten thousand thousand years
That shall no longer flow.