 | The collected poems of Arthur Edward Waite |  |
283
I
IN CIVITATE DEI MAGNA
The city is dusty, the streets are long,
And the sky overhead looks dim;
But, ah! it is fill'd with a thought of thee,
As the church with the chanted bymn.
It is fill'd with the memories bright of thee,
As the spirit with grace divine;
If a sunbeam fall upon path or wall
I know 'tis a smile of thine.
And the sky overhead looks dim;
But, ah! it is fill'd with a thought of thee,
As the church with the chanted bymn.
It is fill'd with the memories bright of thee,
As the spirit with grace divine;
If a sunbeam fall upon path or wall
I know 'tis a smile of thine.
Comes there a pause in the whirl around,
Thy heartstrings there I hear;
Sounds there a voice that is sweet and low,
I know thy voice is near;
Gleams there a face that is fair to see,
Wherever thy form may dwell,
I know it is thou by the white, white brow,
Thou spirit of Israfel!
Thy heartstrings there I hear;
Sounds there a voice that is sweet and low,
I know thy voice is near;
Gleams there a face that is fair to see,
Wherever thy form may dwell,
I know it is thou by the white, white brow,
Thou spirit of Israfel!
O, I shall stand in a moment more
Where oft thy feet have trod,
Which now go over the steep incline
That leads to the Mount of God!
As ever they press on their forward way
There falls on the pilgrim's face
A beam more bright of the wond'rous light
That shines in the Holy Place.
Where oft thy feet have trod,
Which now go over the steep incline
That leads to the Mount of God!
As ever they press on their forward way
There falls on the pilgrim's face
A beam more bright of the wond'rous light
That shines in the Holy Place.
| The collected poems of Arthur Edward Waite | |