His chant of glory undefiled,
The Creed that with the Church was born: --
Down be his earnest forehead cast,
His slender fingers join'd for prayer,
With half a frown his eye seal'd fast
Against the world's intruding glare.
Who, -- while his lips so gently move,
And all his look is purpose strong,
Can say what wonders, wrought above,
Upon his unstain'd fancy throng?
The world new-framed, the CHRIST new-born,
The Mother-Maid, the cross and grave,
The rising sun on Easter morn,
The fiery tongues sent down to save, --
The gathering Church, the Font of Life,
The saints and mourners kneeling round,
The Day to end the body's strife,
The Saviour in His people crown'd, --
All in majestic march and even
To the veil'd eye by turns appear,
True to their time as stars in heaven, --
No morning dream so still and clear.