“The darkness and the light are both alike to thee.” Oh, Christ! thou very Christ! not as a God, One and eternal, treading with thy feet The rounded worlds, which, with a ruby glow, Give back the touch in music breathing roll, Till all the azure dome bows to the light, Flushed with exultant joy, and sings aloud To harps of sapphire, amethyst and pearl. Not as the leader of embannered hosts That wait thy bidding; the glowing seraph, Bright cherub, or the archangelic throng, Grave in the virtue of eternal years— Fair in the beauty of eternal truth— Sublime and joyful in eternal youth— Not all thy goings forth with level eyes, And even tread, harmonious, self-involved— Thyself Love, Beauty, Truth, and seeing these In all, through all, from angel’s anthem tone To feeblest pulsing in poor human heart:— Not all thy earth-love mission, thy deep prayers On Olivet, and all thy weary grief Until Gethsemane beheld thee bleed At every pore, o’er faith betrayed, and love That wearied, though its watch was but an hour— Thy breaking bread to hungry lips—thine eye That pitied every shape of wo—thy tears For Lazarus—thy more than love for her, The loving Mary, unrebuked, though frail— Thy scornings of hypocrisy and wrong— Thy goings up and down for good to earth, And writing on its forehead a new name,[2] Even as incarnate Evil walked the earth, And branded on its face the mark of Cain,[3] So did thy loving hand efface the mark, Thy footsteps leave a blessing for the curse— For this I bless thee, and all this would take Into my soul of souls, and walk with Thee; Yet not for these do I so much adore; . . . . . . . But thou didst go. Down to the very grave—like unto ours Thy death-pang—thy effulgent limbs did lie “In cold obstruction.” Oh! pitying soul of Man! For this I praise thee—worship and bow down, Sing with the evening stars and morning light. When the great glory of the sun walks forth, I shout the resurrection and new life; For thou with light didst penetrate the dark, Thy footsteps waked “old chaos and dim night.” Legions of melancholy shapes that wailed Their being, mourning they should be a blot Upon the garments of enrobed light, Their voice a discord when the swelling hymn In God’s majestic dome rolled through all space, In silence saw thy foot the barrier press Of their uncheered vault, with a strong tread, Itself a light, till downward more and more The inverted arch recoiled, and thou didst stand, Amid their ghostly and distorted shapes Serene and fair, thrice beautiful and calm. Death and Hell—Darkness and Pain! Oh, my God! We see their marks, we know not what they are, But Thou, oh Christ! didst walk the dread abysm, And from thyself a permeating light Made darkness day. The adamantine bond Broke from its clasp, and knew itself no more; The jangling chord, that its own discord wailed,