From you, the veil of midnight darkness rending,
Came the rich mysteries to the sleeper's eye,
That saw your hosts ascending and descending,
On those bright steps between the earth and sky:
Trembling he woke, and bow'd o'er glory's trace,
And worshipp'd, awe-struck, in that fearful place.
By Chebar's Brook ye pass'd, such radiance wearing,
As mortal vision might but ill endure;
Along the stream the living chariot bearing,
With its high crystal arch intensely pure!*[1]
And the dread rushing of your wings that hour,
Was like the noise of waters in their power.
But in the Olive-Mount, by night appearing,
Midst the dim leaves, your holiest work was done!—
Whose was the voice that came, divinely cheering,
Fraught with the breath of God to aid his Son?—
Haply of those that on the moonlit plains,
Wafted good-tidings unto Syrian swains.
Yet one more task was yours!—your heavenly dwelling,
Ye left, and by th' unseal'd sepulchre stone
In glorious raiment sat; the weepers telling
That He they sought, had triumph'd, and was gone!—
Now have ye left us for the brighter shore,
Your presence lights the lonely groves no more
- ↑ * Ezekiel, chap. i.
