Through
that
pure
virgin
shrine,
That
sacred
veil
drawn
o'er
Thy
glorious
noon,
That
men
might
look
and
live,
as
glowworms
shine,
And
face
the
moon,
Wise
Nicodemus
saw
such
light
As
made
him
know
his
God
by
night.
Most
blest
believer
he!
Who
in
that
land
of
darkness
and
blind
eyes
Thy
long-expected
healing
wings
could
see,
When
Thou
didst
rise!
And,
what
can
never
more
be
done,
Did
at
midnight
speak
with
the
Sun!
Oh
who
will
tell
me
where
He
found
Thee
at
that
dead
and
silent
hour?
What
hallowed
solitary
ground
did
bear
So
rare
a
flower,
Within
whose
sacred
leaves
did
lie
The
fullness
of
the
Deity?
No
mercy-seat
of
gold,
No
dead
and
dusty
cherub,
nor
carved
stone,
But
His
own
living
works
did
my
Lord
hold
And
lodge
alone;
Where
trees
and
herbs
did
watch
and
peep
And
wonder,
while
the
Jews
did
sleep.
Dear
night!
this
world's
defeat;
The
stop
to
busy
fools;
care's
check
and
curb;
The
day
of
spirits;
my
soul's
calm
retreat
Which
none
disturb!
Christ's
progress,
and
His
prayer
time;
The
hours
to
which
high
Heaven
doth
chime;
God's
silent,
searching
flight;
When
my
Lord's
head
is
filled
with
dew,
and
all
His
locks
are
wet
with
the
clear
drops
of
night;
His
still,
soft
call;
His
knocking
time;
the
soul's
dumb
watch,
When
spirits
their
fair
kindred
catch.
Were
all
my
loud,
evil
days
Calm
and
unhaunted
as
is
thy
dark
tent,
Whose
peace
but
by
some
angel's
wing
or
voice
Is
seldom
rent,
Then
I
in
heaven
all
the
long
year
Would
keep,
and
never
wander
here.
But
living
where
the
sun
Doth
all
things
wake,
and
where
all
mix
and
tire
Themselves
and
others,
I
consent
and
run
To
every
mire,
And
by
this
world's
ill-guiding
light,
Err
more
than
I
can
do
by
night.
There
is
in
God
—
some
say
—
A
deep
but
dazzling
darkness,
as
men
here
Say
it
is
late
and
dusky,
because
they
See
not
all
clear.
Oh
for
that
night,
where
I
in
Him
Might
live
invisible
and
dim!