EPILOGUE.
THE SON OF MAN.
I gazed—it was the Paschal night—
In vision on the starry sphere:
Like suns the stars made broad their light:
Then knew I Earth to Heaven drew near.
The Thrones of Darkness down were hurled;
The veil was rent; the bond was riven:
Then knew I that Man's little world
Had reached its home—the heart of heaven.
Made strong by God, mine eyes with awe
Still roved from star-changed sun to sun
That ringed the earth in ranks, and saw
A Spirit o'er each, that stood thereon.
And, clasped by every Spirit, stood
More high, the Venerable Sign:
Then knew I that the Atoning Blood
Had reached that sphere; the Blood Divine.
From orb to orb an anthem passed;
‘The Blessing of the Lord of All
Hath reached us from the least and last
Of stars that light the Heavenly Hall;
‘For He, that Greatest, loves the Least;
Puts down the mighty; lifts the low:
On Earth began His Bridal Feast:
Our Triumph is its overflow!’
Then Earth, that great ‘New Earth’
foretold,
Assumed those glories long her due:
Or were they hers indeed of old
Though veiled till then from mortal view?
While—with her changing—far and wide
Those worlds around her, blent in one,
Became that ‘City of the Bride’
Which needs no light of moon or sun.
Their splendour had not suffered change
As, kenned through myriad senses new,
Self-radiant street, and columned range
To one unmeasured Temple grew.
Ere long through all that throbbing frame
Of things beheld and things unseen
Rolled forth that Name which none can name
Save those that breathe not clime terrene.
And down that luminous Infinite
I saw an Altar and a Throne;
And, near to each, a Form, all light
That, resting, moved, and moved Alone:
But if He filled that Throne or knelt
That Altar nigh, or Lamb-like lay,
I saw not. This I saw and felt
That Son of Man was God for aye.
That Son of God was Man and stood,
And from His Vest, more white than snow,
Slowly there dawned a Cross of Blood
That through the glory seemed to grow:
Above the heavens His Hands He raised
To bless those Worlds whose race was run;
And lo! in either palm there blazed
The blood-red sign of Victory won;
That Blood the Bethlehem Shepherds eyed
Warming His cheek Who slept apart:
That Blood He drew—the Crucified—
Far-fountained from His Mother's Heart.
