Nay, for He comes to loosen and unbind,
To build the lofty purpose in the mind,
To stir the heart's deep chord....
No rude horns parleying, no shock of shields;
Nor as of old the glory of the Lord
To half-awakened shepherds in the fields,
Looking with foolish faces on the rush
Of the Great Splendor, when the pulsing hush
Came o'er the hills, came o'er the heavens afar
Where on their cliff of stars the watching seraphs are.
Nor as of old when first the Strong One trod
The Power of sepulchers—our Risen God!
When on that deathless morning in the dark,
He quit the Garden of the Sepulcher,
Setting the oleander boughs astir,
And pausing at the gate with backward hark—
Nay, nor as when the Hero-King of Heaven
Came with upbraiding to His faint Eleven,
And found the world-way to His bright feet barred,
And hopeless then because men's hearts were hard.
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