Vision from the Apocalypse

I saw again. Be­hold! Heav­en’s op­en door

Behold! a throne—the se­ra­phim stood o’er it—

The white-robed el­ders fell upon the floor

And flung their crowns be­fore it.

I saw a won­drous book—an an­gel strong

To Heav­en and earth pro­claimed his loud ap­peals—

But a hush passed across the se­raph’s song

For none might loose the seals.

Then

fast as rain to death cry of the year

Tears of St. John to that sad cry were giv­en;

It was a won­drous thing to see a tear

Fall on the floor of Heav­en!

And a sweet voice said

Weep not

where­fore fails

Eagle of God

thy heart

the high and leal?

The Lion out of Ju­dah’s tribe pre­vails

To loose the sev­en-fold seal.

’Twas Is­ra­el’s voice; and straight­way

up ab­ove

Stood in the midst a won­drous Lamb

snow white

Heart-wound­ed with the deep sweet wounds of love

Eternal

in­fi­nite.

Then rose the song no ear had heard be­fore;

Then from the white-robed throng

High an­them woke;

And fast as spring-tide on the sea­less shore

The hal­le­lu­jahs broke.

Who dreams of God when pas­sion­ate youth is high

When first life’s wea­ry waste his feet have trod—

Who seeth an­gels’ foot­falls in the sky

Working the works of God

His sun shall fade as gent­ly as it rose

Thro’ the dark woof of death’s ap­proach­ing night

His faith shall shoot

at life’s pro­phet­ic close

Some threads of gold­en light.

For him the sil­ver lad­der shall be set—

His Sav­ior shall re­ceive his lat­est breath—

He walk­eth to a fade­less co­ro­net

Up thro’ the gate of death.