Yet not alone--the unseen sphere
Was strongly felt to be more near
Than all the foe-array;

The threat'ning billows of the night

Were instinct with a wondrous light
Invisible by day.

CXI

The lofty walls and ceiling, wrought

In massive masonry,

Grow indistinct, then fade to nought,

A thin transparency !

The Heav'n of heav'ns, shut off from sight,

Deep in th' unfathomed Infinite

Sinks within mortal range;

Its glories rend Earth's robe of blue,

Displaying to the Martyr's view

A sight sublimely strange!

CXII

What mean those hues which spreading o'er

His heavenly features dye,

As though the soul had gone before

The body to the sky:

That countenance, so strangely bright,

Glows with a new unearthly light

They had not marked before;

With vision fastened on the skies,

He speaks, with radiant upturned eyes
But turns to them no more.

CXIII

So free has been that holy life

From sin's polluting stain

That in these minutes of wild strife

Which only now remain,

Jesus, with whom he loved to dwell,

And saw albeit invisible

To dim corporeal sight,

Appears o'er Heaven's sky-spread dome
Opening the bright gates of his home,
Nerving his failing powers to brave
The brief bright passage through the grave

In nearing realms of light.

CXIV

The Son of Man, the Son of God,

Who but a year ago,

Poured out His life beneath the rod

Of agonising woe.

Where once the Son of Man was slain

The Son of God appears again

In splendour none can paint.

Not sitting in His Majesty

But standing 22 forward in the sky

To aid His dying Saint.

CXV

'I see,' his earnest accents ran,

'I see, and I alone,

Heaven opened, and the "Son of Man " 23

Stand by His Father's throne! '
These words, revealing suddenly

That Christ who came as man to die
Was clothed as highest Deity

In Resurrection frame,

Awake at once ungoverned rage

In all, whose mental line could gauge

Their hidden depth of aim.

CXVI

His holy words to them but mean

Daring profanity;

Their wilful sins as mountains screen

That Presence in the sky;

F

· What need we further witness now?'

The High Priest cries with knitted brow;

'By his own word he dies,

The patience that so long hath borne

Denunciation, biting scorn,

Brooks not these blasphemies! '

CXVII

He seeks no longer to control,

Or stay the seething band;

They surge on like the storm-hurled roll

Of breakers on the strand;

The fierce desire to see him bleed

Defeats its object in the deed;

They wait not to prepare

Those dread superlatives of woe, 24

Tortures more terrible and slow,

Others were made to bear.

CXVIII

The crave 25 for blood, in burning thirst

Parches each gazer's eye,

Each forward darts to be the first

To drag him out to die.

The anger that has long been pent
Within the heart, may seek its vent
In words 26 that swiftly flow;

Fell hatred finds no time for word,
Her voice is in the gleaming sword,
The life-destroying blow.

CXIX

They hurry 27 forth beyond the wall

And gird their loins to slay;

Bright angels throng the funeral

Though demons lead the way:

There stands by one, who though that deed

He aided not, yet saw him bleed

Consenting to their crime;

Who in his after years became

God's bravest Saint, and bore his name

To many a distant clime.

CXX

The place of doom 28 they swiftly seek,

The eastern gate beside,

Where as traditions truly speak

His Lord was crucified