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Down the dark future, through long generations,

The echoing sounds grow fainter and then cease; And like a bell, with solemn, sweet vibrations, I hear once more the voice of Christ say,

" Peace !"

Peace ! and no longer from its brazen portals
The blast of War's great organ shakes the

skies !
But beautiful as songs of the immortals,

The holy melodies of love arise.



In the valley of the Pegnitz, where across broad

meadow-lands Rise the blue Franconian mountains, Nuremberg,

the ancient, stands.

Quaint old town of toil and traffic, quaint old

town of art and song, Memories haunt thy pointed gables, like the

rooks that round them throng :

Memories of the Middle Ages, when the em

perors, rough and bold, Had their dwelling in thy castle, time-defying,

centuries old ;

And thy brave and thrifty burghers boasted, in

their uncouth rhyme, That their great imperial city stretched its hand

through every clime.

In the court-yard of the castle, bound with many

an iron band, Stands the mighty linden planted by Queen

Cunigunde's hand;

On the square the oriel window, where in old

heroic days Sat the poet Melchior singing Kaiser Maximil

ian's praise.

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