IX.
He entereth through the gate into the City, and findeth welcome and rest.
He passes through the gate, and hears
The voice of joyful psalms,—
And white-robed citizens come forth
To greet him, bearing palms;
And all the mingling bells ring out,
And all the minstrels sing,—
Sure never to a pilgrim's ear
Were sounds so ravishing.
Harp, cittern, lute, and dulcimer,
How sweetly do they play!
How kind the glances and the smiles
That meet him on the way!
They clothe him with a snowy robe,
They lead him to the feast,
And there the Prince of all the land
Bids welcome to his guest.
And thus the minstrels sing, while goes
The peaceful evening down:—
“O happy he who now doth see
The marble-templed town!”
