Songs of the Spirit

I saw the Christ, with fire shod, Walk through the holy place, And the lilies rosier where he trod, Blushed for a little space. I saw myself, and still I sang With lips in clearer tune, Like to the nightingale’s that rang Through all those nights of June ; Such nights when stars in slumber hang Beneath the quiet moon. Still, in those avenues of light, No maid, with golden zone, And lily garment that from sight Half hides the ivory throne, Lay in my arms the livelong night To call my soul her own. The Christ’s cold lips my lips did taste On Time’s disastrous tide, His bruiséd arms my soul embraced, My soul twice crucified ; 95