1.
“He holdeth back the face of His throne, and spreadeth His cloud upon it.”
“What is His crime? One to a kingdom born!
Come, let us make a glorious diadem,
At every point shall be a living gem,
We with His own tiara will adorn,
And, circled with the radiance of the morn,
Show thee thy King, thou proud Jerusalem!
His bleeding temples shall supply the stem
With rubies, and its rays the twisted thorn.”
O hell-born skill of fierce imperial Rome,
Well might they deem thee from the very womb
Nurtured by savage beast amid the wild;
With blood of all the nations now defiled;
Henceforth thyself shalt thine own Cæsars own,
And know and feel thyself the thorny crown.
