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ATLANTIS.
61
Woke all thy seers, of deepening light aware;
Swift-falling flames thy crimson altars caught;
Day crowned thy Ruler: he who, strong to dare,
Had long with hell-born Slavery, grappling, fought,
And hurled him down the pit, and thy salvation wrought.
Swift-falling flames thy crimson altars caught;
Day crowned thy Ruler: he who, strong to dare,
Had long with hell-born Slavery, grappling, fought,
And hurled him down the pit, and thy salvation wrought.
VI.
On Freedom's golden threshold mute he stood,
And bore aloft the star-embroidered sign—
His drooping brow bedewed with sweat of blood,
His sad eyes steeped in tears of love divine;
And sighing yet, "Thy will, O God, not mine,"
His clinging crown of thorns half-snatched away,
His wan lips wet with crucifixion-wine—
He stood—pale herald of millennial day,
While Judas paused afar and whispered, "Slay him—slay!"
On Freedom's golden threshold mute he stood,
And bore aloft the star-embroidered sign—
His drooping brow bedewed with sweat of blood,
His sad eyes steeped in tears of love divine;
And sighing yet, "Thy will, O God, not mine,"
His clinging crown of thorns half-snatched away,
His wan lips wet with crucifixion-wine—
He stood—pale herald of millennial day,
While Judas paused afar and whispered, "Slay him—slay!"
VII.
O people wailing for the first-born, dead!
O morn transplendent, quenched in utter night!
O people wailing for the first-born, dead!
O morn transplendent, quenched in utter night!
