THROUGH that pure virgin shrine,
That sacred veil drawn o'er Thy glorious noon,
That men might look and live, as glow-worms 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 !
O who will tell me, where
He found Thee at that dead and silent hour ?
What hallow'd solitary ground did bear
So rare a flower ;
Within
whose sacred leaves did lie
The
fulness of the Deity ?
No mercy-seat of gold,
No dead and dusty cherub, nor carv'd 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 ; cares 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 fill'd 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 ev'ry 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.
O for
that Night ! where I in Him
Might
live invisible and dim !
