BLESS’D are the pure in heart, | |
| For they shall see our God, | |
| The secret of the Lord is theirs, | |
| Their soul is Christ’s abode. | |
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| Might mortal thought presume | 5 |
| To guess an angel’s lay, | |
| Such are the notes that echo through | |
| The courts of Heaven to-day. | |
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| Such the triumphal hymns | |
| On Sion’s Prince that wait, | 10 |
| In high procession passing on | |
| Towards His temple-gate. | |
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| Give ear, ye kings—bow down, | |
| Ye rulers of the earth— | |
| This, this is He: your Priest by grace, | 15 |
| Your God and King by birth. | |
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| No pomp of earthly guards | |
| Attends with sword and spear, | |
| And all-defying, dauntless look, | |
| Their monarch’s way to clear; | 20 |
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| Yet are there more with Him | |
| Than all that are with you— | |
| The armies of the highest Heaven, | |
| All righteous, good, and true. | |
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| Spotless their robes and pure, | 25 |
| Dipped in the sea of light, | |
| That hides the unapproachèd shrine | |
| From men’s and angels’ sight. | |
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| His throne, thy bosom blest, | |
| O mother undefiled— | 30 |
| That throne, if aught beneath the skies, | |
| Beseems the sinless child. | |
| |
| Lost in high thoughts, “whose son | |
| The wondrous Babe might prove,” | |
| Her guileless husband walks beside, | 35 |
| Bearing the hallowed dove; | |
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| Meet emblem of His vow, | |
| Who, on this happy day, | |
| His dove-like soul—best sacrifice— | |
| Did on God’s altar lay. | 40 |
| |
| But who is he, by years | |
| Bowed, but erect in heart, | |
| Whose prayers are struggling with his tears? | |
| “Lord, let me now depart. | |
| |
| “Now hath Thy servant seen | 45 |
| Thy saving health, O Lord; | |
| ’Tis time that I depart in peace, | |
| According to Thy word.” | |
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| Yet swells the pomp: one more | |
| Comes forth to bless her God; | 50 |
| Full fourscore years, meek widow, she | |
| Her heaven-ward way hath trod. | |
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| She who to earthly joys | |
| So long had given farewell, | |
| Now sees, unlooked for, Heaven on earth, | 55 |
| Christ in His Israel. | |
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| Wide open from that hour | |
| The temple-gates are set, | |
| And still the saints rejoicing there | |
| The holy Child have met. | 60 |
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| Now count His train to-day, | |
| And who may meet Him, learn; | |
| Him child-like sires, meek maidens find, | |
| Where pride can nought discern. | |
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| Still to the lowly soul | 65 |
| He doth Himself impart, | |
| And for His cradle and His throne | |
| Chooseth the pure in heart. | |
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