Classic Poem

Oh! Who is this, enwrapped in brooding night,
Lies lulled asleep, yet momently apart
Rends the black vapours of His seat, men's heart,
And thrills the dark with splendour, like the light
Of holy dawn's far-rolling chariot bright?

Who, risen out of sleep, with pitying gaze
Looks on the senseless comrade at his side,
A prisoner in death's meshes trapped and tied?
Then — He, the passionless — from that amaze
Springs, with redeeming passion set ablaze!

He stoops, and with those burning lips, whose kiss
Enlightenment and strength and hallowing gives,
Startles the sleeping form! The dead one lives! —
In love incessant, active, Who is this
That makes the awakened drink of life and bliss?

Unwearied, but without desire!
Insatiate, but without the gnawing fire
Of hunger, Him the world's vain mask enthralls not;
The phantom noise of its illusion calls not.
In Him no parts are found;
No body locks Him round.
He by compulsion draws none; nay, nor one
That seeketh Him would shun.
Opposing none, resisting none, He still
Bears gifts for those who will;
In life on life the Eternal Witness stands,
Enlightenment and freedom in his hands.