Classic Poem

Burst is the iron gate!
And, from the night of fate,
Out of the darkness and the gloom abhorred;
Amidst the choral hymn,
With cloud and cherubim,
The Virgin leaves the tomb, — arisen like her Lord!

Free in the heavens she soars,
While the clear radiance pours,
Like a vast glory, round her upward face;
And higher still, and higher,
With the angelic choir,
The soul by grace regained, regains the realms of grace.

In mortal shape! and yet,
Upon her brow is set
The new celestial glory, like a crown;
Her eyes anticipate
The bright eternal state;
Her arms to heaven extend; to her the heavens reach down!

We, with the saints beneath,
Half lose our mortal breath,
With sense and soul still following where she flies;
They, rapt into the light
Of the miraculous sight, —
We, of the wondrous art that gives it to our eyes!