Classic Poem

Now let the Earth and Heavens, washed again
In Spring's baptismal waters, speak the praise
Of this most joyous festival. Behold!
The Monarch crowned with many victories
Brings yet another: Death himself is slain.
Now know we that the dead He'll surely raise
From wreck of Time, as divers bring the gold
Of treasure whelmed in sunken argosies.

But in the ultimate hour — sweet Jesus, hear us! —
Be Thou our stay when Heaven's veil is rending,
To stand between us and the nether Hell
Whereof our souls are dreadful; Christ, be near us!
When from the flaming skies in pomp descending,
Bursts, with uplifted trumpet, Gabriel.

(After a long absence)

Had I not seen, and with these eyes
Beheld her loveliness, her grace,
And watched her move from place to place
In ecstasy, — nor Paradise
Would e'er to my poor heart have seemed
So infinitely near — now I
Can scarcely see the earth for sky —
For she is lovelier than I dreamed.

Yet, all unwitting, plays she here below
The part of mortal, pouring out the tea
As might do others, but unlike the lot; —
One glance alone from whose eyes can bestow
The gift of life or death, such power has she,
Dear God, and knows it not.