 | The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Croly |  |
35
XL.
But, only kindred faith can fitly tellOf the high ritual at that altar done,
When clash'd the arms and rose the chorus-swell,
Then sank,—as if beneath the grave 'twere gone;
Till broke the spell the mitred abbot's tone,
Deep, touching, solemn, as he stood in prayer,
A dazzling form upon its topmost stone,
And raised, with hallowed look, the Host in air,
And bless'd with heavenward hand the thousands kneeling there.
| The Poetical Works of the Rev. George Croly | |