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179
THE CHURCH—A FRAGMENT.
REV. XXI.
A virgin bright, a spotless brideFrom heaven descending,
Angelic armies by her side,
Her pathway tending;
And her robes, more pure than printless snow,
Light beneath her footstep flow.
Wash'd in the streams of Jesus' blood,
Not a spot, not a stain, though view'd in the light
And sunshine of heaven's own crystal flood,
Not a spot, not a stain, but of dazzling white!
Who could deem that this is she
Who walk'd on earth so droopingly?—
Her head bow'd down on her beating heart,
Her eyes in tears that still would start,
180
Is in every step of a thorny plain.
Walk'd she on earth so droopingly,—
Who could deem that this is she?
1843.
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