The Crown
In a great vision I beheld the Lord.—
I saw his robes, his sceptre, and his rings,
And all his heavenly store of wondrous things;
His garments and his jewels and his sword.
But what is this that some bright seraph brings,
This wonder girded by a golden cord?
Surely it is the crown the King of kings
Alone doth wear,—chief marvel in his hoard.
Eager I looked,—my soul was in a glow,
For surely, thought I, this high God who scorns
To mingle with the earth, more white than snow,
More pure than woman, some strange wreath adorns;—
I yearned and looked—and looked again—for lo!
The crown was not of roses, but of thorns.
I saw his robes, his sceptre, and his rings,
And all his heavenly store of wondrous things;
His garments and his jewels and his sword.
But what is this that some bright seraph brings,
This wonder girded by a golden cord?
Surely it is the crown the King of kings
Alone doth wear,—chief marvel in his hoard.
Eager I looked,—my soul was in a glow,
For surely, thought I, this high God who scorns
To mingle with the earth, more white than snow,
More pure than woman, some strange wreath adorns;—
I yearned and looked—and looked again—for lo!
The crown was not of roses, but of thorns.
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