With richer zest the banquet may be fraught,
A loftier theme may wake th' exulting strain!
The lord of nations spoke,—and forth were brought
The spoils of Salem's devastated fane:
Thrice holy vessels!—pure from earthly stain,
And set apart, and sanctified to Him,
Who deign'd within the oracle to reign,
Reveal'd, yet shadow'd; making noon-day dim,
To that most glorious cloud between the cherubim.
They came, and louder swell'd the voice of song,
And pride flash'd brighter from the kindling eye,
And He who sleeps not, heard th' elated throng,
In mirth that play'd with thunderbolts, defy
The Rock of Zion!—Fill the nectar high,
High in the cups of consecrated gold!
And crown the bowl with garlands, ere they die,
And bid the censers of the temple hold
Offerings to Babel's gods, the mighty ones of old!
Peace! is it but a phantom of the brain,
Thus shadow'd forth the senses to appal,
Yon fearful vision?—who shall gaze again
To search its cause?—along th' illumin'd wall,
