Classic Poem

Lo, now the Moonlight lit his features wan
With spectral beams, and o'er his hoary hair
A halo of brightness fell, and rested there!
And while upon his face mine eyes were bent
In utterness of woeful wonderment,
Into mine ear the strange voice crept once more:
" Far have I wandered, weary and spirit-sore,
And lo! wherever I have chanced to be,
All things, save men alone, have pitied me!"
Then — then — even as he spake, forlornly crown'd
By the cold light that wrapt him round and round,
I saw upon his twain hands raised to Heaven
Stigmata bloody as of sharp nails driven
Thro' the soft palms of mortals crucified!
And swiftly glancing downward I descried
Stigmata bloody on the naked feet
Set feebly on the cold stones of the street! —
And moveless in the frosty light he stood,
Ev'n as one hanging on the Cross of wood!

Then, like a lone man in the north, to whom
The auroral lights on the world's edge assume
The likeness of his gods, I seem'd to swoon
To a sick horror; and the stars and moon
Reel'd wildly o'er me, swift as sparks that blow
Out of a forge; and the cold stones below
Chattered like teeth! For lo, at last I knew
The lineaments of that diviner Jew
Who like a Phantom passeth everywhere,
The World's last hope and bitterest despair,
Deathless, yet dead! —
Unto my knees I sank,
And with an eye glaz'd like the dying's drank
The wonder of that Presence!
White and tall
And awful grew He in the mystical
Chill air around Him, — at His mouth a mist
Made by His frosty breathing! — Then I kissed
His frozen raiment-hem, and murmured
" Adonai! Master! Lord of Quick and Dead!"
'Twas more than heart could suffer and still beat —
So with a hollow moan I fainted at his feet!