Classic Poem

So tho' our Daystar from our sight be taken,
Gone from His brethren, hidden from His own,
Yet in His setting are we not forsaken,
Suffer not shadows of the dark alone.

Not in the west is Thine appearance ended,
Neither from night shall Thy renewal be,
Lo, for the firmament in spaces splendid
Lighteth her beacon-fires ablaze for Thee:

Holds them and hides and drowns them and discovers
Throngs them together, kindles them afar,
Showeth, O Love, Thy multitude of lovers,
Souls that shall know Thee and the saints that are.

Look what a company of constellations!
Say can the sky so many lights contain?
Hath the great earth these endless generations?
Are there so many purified thro' pain?

These thro' all glow and eminence of glory
Cry for a brighter, who delayeth long;
Star unto star the everlasting story
Peals in a mystic sanctity of song. . . .

Hark what a sound, and too divine for hearing,
Stirs on the earth and trembles in the air!
Is it the thunder of the Lord's appearing?
Is it the music of His people's prayer?

Surely He cometh, and a thousand voices
Shout to the saints and to the deaf are dumb;
Surely He cometh, and the earth rejoices
Glad in His coming Who hath sworn, I come.