Classic Poem

Thou, whom we seek by many a darksome way,
But whom our groping thoughts can never feel,
Thou once didst leave Thy throne, which clouds conceal,
Amidst Thy people visibly to stay.
How happy those who could Thy face survey,
And hear Thy words, so full of sweet appeal;
Who round Thy table sat and shared thy meal;
Most happy he who on Thy bosom lay!
We scarce can deem the burning zeal o'erwrought
Of countless pilgrims who from home set out,
And armies who on coasts far-distant fought
That they beside Thy grave but once might pray,
And once might kiss with fervour most devout
The holy soil o'er which Thy feet did stray.