The slumber of His lips meseems to run Through _my_ lips to mine heart, to all its shiftings Of sensual life, bringing contrariousness In a great calm. I feel I could lie down As Moses did, and die,[7]--and then live most. I am 'ware of you, heavenly Presences, That stand with your peculiar light unlost, Each forehead with a high thought for a crown, Unsunned i' the sunshine! I am 'ware. Ye throw No shade against the wall! How motionless Ye round me with your living statuary, While through your whiteness, in and outwardly, Continual thoughts of God appear to go, Like light's soul in itself. I bear, I bear To look upon the dropt lids of your eyes, Though their external shining testifies To that beatitude within which were Enough to blast an eagle at his sun: I fall not on my sad clay face before ye,-- I look on His. I know My spirit which dilateth with the woe Of His mortality, May well contain your glory. Yea, drop your lids more low. Ye are but fellow-worshippers with me! Sleep, sleep, my worshipped One! V. We sate among the stalls at Bethlehem; The dumb kine from their fodder turning them, Softened their hornèd faces To almost human gazes Toward the newly Born: The simple shepherds from the star-lit brooks Brought visionary looks, As yet in their astonied hearing rung The strange sweet angel-tongue: The magi of the East, in sandals worn, Knelt reverent, sweeping round, With long pale beards, their gifts upon the ground, The incense, myrrh and gold These baby hands were impotent to hold: So let all earthlies and celestials wait Upon Thy royal state. Sleep, sleep, my kingly One! VI.