Classic Poem

PARTI .

A T midday or at midnight it is dim
Under the Dome; but the high altar lights
Mark the high hours, and one forgets the sun
For never could in any sunshine sweep
Such floods of music, overmastering
The vast and glooming spaces, sad and strong
As Love in strife with Death. The full choir swells
And falls, in long-drawn passionate harmony,
And all the great Dome seems as built and borne
On music only, save where gloriously
Burns the high altar in its hundred lights
Dazzling and tall, and over all of them
Rises the Crucifix, and from its height
Christ with the Crown of Thorns looks down and reigns
I know not whether it was night or day,
Being always twilight there; — the music pealed;
Row above row the altar tapers burned
Up to the feet of Christ; — the incense rose
In dreamy clouds, and higher rose the chaunts,
As if they sang for One, and One alone,
He hearkening in His passion unto them
O Christ! they chaunted, conquer Death for us!
Remember us as we remember Thee;
We are Thine, and Thou art ours for evermore!
And in the midst, Christ crucified, adored,
Uplifted on the music and the lights,
Seemed not to suffer, only to endure
In silent rapture of unshrinking calm
The hour is come, the Son is glorified,
And Thou, O God, art glorified in Him!
Sang the sweet voices in a solemn strain
And still the heart and eyes drew to the One
Set for a sign there betwixt earth and heaven,
And felt it was not hard to watch with Him.

I know not how the passionate hours went by;
But they were ending, and the High Mass done:
And those who filled the great cathedral floor,
Seeming at home in the warm shadowy space,
Began to pour away; the chaunts went low
And sorrowing, and single voices wailed
As in farewell; and one by one the lights
Extinguished on the altar, left the Dome
In darkness, and the last note sank away.
The footfalls of the multitude grew faint
Toward the far doors, and none turned back to look,
Departing to the outer life and air.
The dim and empty height grew cold and grey;
The smoke from dying tapers curled around
The dying Christ, and He was left alone
Upon His Cross, without a worshipper
And now indeed the Passion of His soul
Began to enter into me, and I
Was loth to leave Him too; — the hour of light
And music was for Him and us; but all
The hours of silence and of darkness were
For Him alone; and while we slept or went,
Upon the Cross He suffered evermore
So some long time it seemed I watched with Him,
Under the drooping brows and stiffening limbs;
And then my heart was weary too, and I
Left Him, and He remains there all alone.